


Destiny of Sea and Mountain

by StarWitch (Witchofthestars)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Archaeology, Canon changes to fit my needs, Explicit Sexual Content, Exploration, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Flawed characters, Fluff, Found Family, Hopefully it will be a slow burn, I write happy ever afters not tragedies, M/M, Monster Slaying, POV Multiple, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchofthestars/pseuds/StarWitch
Summary: The Mountain: Living a life predetermined by birth had never suited Jasmine, but hidden away in the Blue Mountains with her brothers on their ancestral home, she had little choice but to play the role assigned to her. That didn't mean she didn't know how to find herself in trouble... trouble that eventually leads to her destiny.The Sea: After the fall of Vergen and giving his aid in the battle against the Wild Hunt, Iorveth lives an aimless life as a vagabond, searching out former Scoia'tael and helping them find a place in this new kingless world. The sea in his blood calls for him to return to the land of his ancestors, but destiny continually pulls his gaze to the wild Blues.A story of overcoming prejudices, of finding ones place in the world, and as always... love. Love of family, friends, and that other being that just makes life so much bearable.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Original Character(s), Iorveth (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 25





	1. Adrift

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, its me again! Welcome to Destiny of Sea and Mountain! I hope you enjoy this new story I've spent the last few months cooking up and I thank you for giving it a chance. I love engaging with readers in the comments and always open to your own little suggestions though I cant promise to always use them. Please forgive any grammar mistakes and my love of commas, for they will be many!!

Elevoss…

Magic came in many forms and practices, the transfiguration of a rock into a butterfly, elements pulled and twisted into one’s command, and even looking to the stars for prophetic tales that had been written centuries before. But there was another form of magic though much less known or acknowledge.

The magic of adventure.

Of throwing mundane caution into the caress of the wind and charging recklessly onto the path less taken. Allowing the next curious happening to lead one out into the unknown, to witness something grand, to discover something that’s never been seen before. Finding friends in the most unlikely of places and facing down the world…

And as always, laughing in the face of danger and taking that dive over the edge…

At least that was how adventure felt to one Lady Jasmine Glade Voss, youngest sibling and only sister to the current Duke of Elevoss, high in the forgotten wilds of the Blue Mountains.

There was a certain magic that could be found in discovering an old map tucked away in an even older journal, forgotten in the highest shelves of a library or shop. Of imagining the hand, the quill, and the eye on the skyline that went into its creation and wishing she had been the one to make such fantastical discoveries as the vast Brokilon Forest or the waves of sand of the Korath Dessert.

Some mornings, Jasmine awoke and could feel the hint of electricity in the air that she associated with adventure. Something fun was always bound to happen, giving her something to write extensively about in the evening or share excitedly with her older brothers Atticus and Theodore.

Normally that meant a pig would run loose through the courtyard and it would take twelve pairs of hands to try and capture the startled creature, or Ms. Gelen gave birth to another babe. Once, a cirque consisting solely of three acrobats- identical triplets- traveled through their little corner of the mountains.

Jasmine had been practicing cartwheels and handstands for months afterward much to the dismay of her brothers and governess but much to the delight of herself.

Yes, adventures were quite commonplace if one knew what to look for. Or wanted to look at all that is, and to be sure, Lady Jasmine always had her eye out for anything the slightest bit interesting. In the remote country as they were, she could hardly be picky with what she considered an adventure. So, everything, from the smallest mouse causing a fuss with the maids in the kitchen to disco

However, as she failed to even try and stifle her third yawn in just as many minutes, watching the steam slowly curl up out of her cup of coffee, the air was decidedly lacking in the magic of adventure that rainy morning.

She didn’t mind the rain, quite the contrary, she found great enjoyment of seeing to her studies, reading, and even the required tasks of a lady such as needle work and sorting correspondence to the tune of rain on window panes and thunder in the distance.

Even more, she liked finding an excuse to be out and about when dark clouds came through the mountain peaks with the explicit hope of being caught in the rain and whirling about as if she were a water sprite.

On this rainy morning she was cooped up indoors listening to Greta, her ever dutiful maid, list off her duties for the day. There were meals to plan and approve orders for, a meeting with women of the glen to plan the annual charity to clothe those less fortunate in preparation for the coming winter, and apparently the décor in the great hall was becoming terribly shabby.

If the new great Lord of the northern realms- also known as Spymaster Dijkstra, decided to check on the duchy’s and many countless vassals acquired in the list of all he self proclaimed himself to now be protecting, then Elevoss had best be polished and sparkling to impress. Which in Jasmine’s opinion would be quite the challenge as they were a country duchy that provided iron from mountain mines and had the best sheep and goats Kaedwen could offer.

To be short- marble floors and gold molding were not a priority for Elevoss. Breeding, shearing, feeding, mining equipment, trade agreements and educated workers took precedent over such things… but as Jasmine noticed the faded tapestries, the frayed edges of the curtains and the dullness of the chandeliers and wall scones around the breakfast room, she had to admit that they were looking rather poor- something they most definitely were not.

Greta had seemed pleased when Jasmine agreed to meet with a tailor to see about fabric samples and then the housekeeper to arrange for the deep cleaning of the castle.

This earned Jasmine a reward as she was not to fear for there would still be plenty of time to mess about with her books, maps, and rocks.

Jasmine raised a brow in amusement when Greta’s lips twisted in a small grimace as she spoke the last word, knowing the ancient and very proper woman, had found Charlotte’s penchant for collecting interesting rocks to be utterly barbaric.

Which, Jasmine supposed it was in the eyes of the upper crust, topics of the life cycle of a rock was entirely boring and banned to the lecture halls of Oxenfurt. However, to herself they were just utterly interesting. Much more so than fashion samples from Beauclair or gossip from Ard Carraigh. Not that she couldn’t appreciate the daring cut of a new gown or get sucked into the fascination of the latest scandal.

But out here in the mountains such distractions were few and far in between.

One thing that was in abundance and in Elevoss… rocks.

Greta was correct about one thing; Jasmine did have several new rocks from her latest excursion down to the river that she’d not had time to properly examine so there was one thing to look forward to this rainy day.

Taking a bite out of her toast, she awkwardly chewed while resting her chin in her palm, elbow blatantly on the table, her gaze lost focus while she imagined life as a rock. Would she rather be a rock resting in a river, smoothed by years of water… or perhaps a rock comprised of many different minerals found deep within a mountain.

“What has such an expression of deep thought on my lovely sister so early in the day?”

The sound of her brother Atticus’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she blinked at him owlishly until he repeated the question with an exasperated smile.

“I was imagining what sort of rock I’d be.” Jasmine answered before taking another large bite of toast.

Greta snorted in the unladylike way that only an elderly maid could get away with while Atticus shook his head in complete lack of understanding.

Theodore, her other brother, older than herself by three years but younger than Atticus by merely one, gave a charming chuckle before leaning across the breakfast table to pat her on the head.

“My dear little sister would never be considered as something as mundane and boring as a _rock_. But the finest jewel in all the land, placed proudly in a crown and guarded fiercely, for you would be the heart of the kingdom!”

For all his flowery and over complimentary prose, Jasmine couldn’t help grinning back at her foppish brother. He was the stark opposite of herself and even Atticus.

Where Atticus was very proper and every bit the Duke he’d been since the tender age of twelve, Theodore took the role of second borne very seriously and did plenty of spending and carousing for both males combined.

As for Jasmine, she was bookish and liked to imagine that she was rather knowledgeable for a country lass. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own scandalous vices… While Atticus digs through mountains of Dukely work and Theodore prances from tavern to tavern, Charlotte was prone to sneaking out through the castles many hidden tunnels and disappearing for days after becoming lost, only to come back filthy, often times shoeless but with a sack full of new and interesting objects she’d found on her excursion through the caves and ruins of their mountain.

It had been some time since she’d had the guards set on her because she’d disappeared…. She did have her bag packed and hidden away in the chance that some new adventure came her way…

“No Jasmine, I forbid it.” Atticus murmured with a sharp look in his crystal blue eyes.

Jasmine rolled her own before feigning innocence. “Forbid what Atti? I’ve made no mention of anything in which to forbid!”

“You don’t have to. I recognize that wanderlust gleam in your eye. It comes about when you get bored and then you disappear and then the entire region is in an uproar of panic searching for you.” Atticus shook his head as if giving a royal command to a lowly subject. “If you are bored and aimless then perhaps it is time to give you a different set of duties.”

Theodore froze, is expression sympathetic when she glanced at him for support, but he offered none, and she felt her face flush with anger and heat before locking her own crystal blue eyes on Atticus the Duke.

“Atti, speak carefully…” Jasmine managed to muster up a hint of threat in her voice. Of course, it had no effect on him. The three of them might have identical shades of fiery hair and cold blue eyes but Theo and Jasmine were no match for Atti’s haughty and emotionless airs.

“I mean it Jasmine. You are a lady and my sister. I am prodded endlessly to marry you off to one of Dijkstra’s nephews or cousins to prove that we’re falling in line with his sovereignty and each time you come back barefoot, with twigs in your hair and covered in dirt, I’m beginning to see the merit in such a choice. With a husband and children, it would- “

“Would what? Keep me on my back in their bed and a babe to my breast? I surely can’t find the time to have my own mind and dreams if I’m ensuring the good name of Voss remains untarnished with my wild hoydenish ways eh?” Jasmine snapped back. “I might have gladly accepted such a fate once, but you saw to it that I didn’t. And then you found excuse after excuse to refuse my academic wishes… So, this is what I’m left with. This is the result of your crimes against me.”

“Jazzy!” Theodore hissed at her.

Jasmine took a deep breath and locked her anger away with great effort. She loved her brother dearly but, in that moment, she could not look at him.

“You’re correct. I am a lady and your sister and as such, there are certain expectations of me and the role I was born into. But you are the duke and the law of the land with your own expectations… so where is your wife and children? Is Theo going to marry one of Dijkstra’s lot? Will I be shipped off to some drunken baron in the swamps?” Jasmine finally dragged her gaze back to a silent Atticus. “I’m done here. I have lady of the realm duties to see to.”

Theodore half stood and reached out for her as she stood and swept from the room.

“Let her go Theo… she will not go far this time.” Atticus voice followed her with a drawl of resignation.

* * *

South of Lyra…

It was with a weary sigh that Iorveth examined the many footprints in the mud, poorly disguised with leaves and twigs.

“Six of them, about a week ago. Another two on horseback, holding the ropes.” He said, raising from his knelt position and following the trail into the trees.

“ _Ysgarthiad…”_ Ciaran cursed softly from behind him. “I don’t like this. We cannot wait for reinforcements as they-”

“Neither do I and we won’t.” Iorveth said sharply, halting Ciaran’s increasingly frantic words, but softened the effect with a hand on the other Aen Seidhe’s shoulder. “We will find them and bring them home.”

Ciaran scoffed and shook his head once. “What home? Theirs was burned to ash. Dol Blathanna where Scoia’tael are still to be killed on sight? Vergen failed spectacularly and now that the Nilfgaard and Wild Hunt threats are paused, the humans will focus on us once more.” The dhuine had a bitter glare that showed his age in contrast to the youth of his face.

“Then we keep looking. Our home is out there we just have yet to make it ours. But enough about this… we have a mission to do.”

“Aye commander.” Ciaran replied with a small smile and falling in line as they mounted their horses and resumed tracking the six Aen Seidhe that had been stolen from their small provincial lives outside of Vergen.

The forest was dense and wet from continuous rain falling in soft showers that lingered for days, and the cold damp air had Iorveth wishing for a warm fire and dry clothing. A hot stew and overflowing tankard wouldn’t be amiss either he decided as the ever present pain of hunger twisted his insides. The dried venison and potatoes they had nicked from an abandoned bandit camp the day before had not satisfied him for long.

But when lives were on the line, taking time to hunt for fresh game or wild growing vegetables was a luxury that they could not allow.

Iorveth sent a quick glance over his shoulder, eyeing Ciaran carefully. Since being drug away from the Flotsam prison barge he had been tortured in, tortured out of loyalty to _him_ , Iorveth had made it his duty to ensure that the _dhuine_ never again suffered due to him and his decisions. But Ciaran had been traveling with him as they aimlessly search out the scattered Scoia’tael units and give them a new direction, a new purpose, when they came across the dying _beanna_ and learned that others had been taken prisoner.

That had been three days before with the missing Aen Seidhe a week ahead of them.

The odds were not in their favor.

“If you had your choice in all the Northern Lands to call home… where would you choose?” Ciaran asked as they paused to check the trail.

“Somewhere warm, with sunlight and a fresh breeze.” Iorveth said softly, his gaze coming up to watch the grey clouds. “Plenty of rain to grow healthy crops, sturdy forests to provide wood and game. Rivers that reached an ocean free of monsters.”

“No _beanna_?”

Iorveth’s shoulders tensed as his first instinct was to deny that there was room in his life for a woman. Afterall a woman in one’s bed meant letting one’s guard down, but this was supposed to be a hypothetically peaceful what if…

But a teasing voice brushed past, carried by the breeze.

 _“Gaaaivennnn…”_ A light laugh followed before dying away with the wind, leaving the sound of the horses walking, and creak of their saddles.

A longing he hadn’t felt in a number of years filled him, making him weak just long enough…

“Aye, a _beanna_. Perhaps a quiet one who didn’t mind the scent of tobacco, swords in the house, and could cook better than the finest Toussaint chef.”

“Sounds idyllic. Not at all the sort of _beanna_ I figured you to settle for. Nor the home. A city perhaps, in command of some Aen Seidhe king’s military.”

Iorveth pressed his teeth together, thinning his lips as he continued his pace with renewed energy.

“Yes well… such a land doesn’t exist, so your question is impossible to answer. Redania? Temeria? Full of monsters, shit weather, shit people, and the scent of rot. They’re all the same. Kings, Queens… I serve the people and never again a monarchy. And a _beanna_ would have to be insane to believe I could ever be a good _leth anam._ ” After a long pause of silence following his clipped voiced diatribe, Iorveth asked the same question to his friend.

“Someday I would like to try and cross the Great Sea. Head west and see what’s hidden by the sunset.”

“The edge of the world some say. Theorize that a ship would fall right off and into the underworld. Others believe that the world is round and that you would sail to the lands on the other side of the Blue Mountains, ending up _east_.”

Ciaran laughed heartedly, causing his horse to shift slightly. “Sailing west only to end up in the east. Beyond even Haakland? Sounds mad.”

“There is a certain amount of madness in every scholar I’ve come across. But perhaps you will be the explorer to prove them right or wrong.”

“Not until we save our people.”

Iorveth silently agreed with a nod of his head as a crack of thunder overhead with jagged flash of lightning streaked across the sky, signaling an increase in rain. As far as signs went, it did not bode well for the future.

* * *

Elevoss…

The parlor was full of chatter, well made dresses, and over powering perfumes, but for Jasmine, she might as well have been alone for all that she participated in the meeting that was supposed to be about clothing unfortunate orphans but was instead turned- as it always was- into _this_.

She was invited- and hosted- purely because she was the highest ranking female in Elevoss with purses that ran deep, and a highly eligible brother or two to make nice with, but that didn’t mean that she was welcome.

The Voss family were very old but a bit more odd than the average upper class household. An unmarried duke who, in their opinion ought to have had a full nursery and a regular mistress, but instead seemed only devoted to his estates and holdings- suspiciously so. On the other end, a second borne who likely had more than two by blows if the rumors were to be true.

And then there was little Jasmine with her freckles, silly superstitions, and nasty habit of running away.

More than once had she heard a complaint about how she walked too fast, or it was a shame she didn’t spend their wealth on more fashionable clothing, or buy a respectable husband who would look the other way.

But Jasmine quite liked that Atticus was a responsible duke who cared for his land and the people who lived on it. And Theodore might be rake, but he was kind and witty with a loving heart… and she quite liked her comfortable skirts with raised hems so that she might walk easier, the vests with pockets to place any new found treasures, and shirts with long sleeves to keep her warm.

And her freckles.

As well as the simple moonstone given to her by her mother which she wore around her neck.

And running away… she didn’t run away near enough anymore.

Jasmine couldn’t truly blame the ladies, for this was what they had been groomed into, and if it were just her alone with say Mrs. Levi browsing fabrics then they would have gotten on famously while Mrs. Levi spoke of her garden and Jasmine gave her opinion on daffodils.

But put all the ladies in one room, it was painfully obvious that she didn’t fit in. And that was fine, it was her fault for not making the effort to do so. And most days she might have braided her hair and worn her gown with the bear fur trim… but on this day she was still angry from her morning interaction with her brother, bitter about the dismissal of her wants, and bored to the point of madness.

All these together made her poor company.

It was only a matter of time however before even her pointed boredom came to an end.

Holding onto her temper was becoming increasingly more difficult the longer Jasmine sat listening to the high born ladies around her gossip and titter over her mother’s delicate teacups filled with cooling tea. They sat planning the lives of their daughters and sons, ranking matches, and bragging about dowries. It was disheartening in the beginning, but she knew better than to speak up for Jasmine knew it was the way of things. Men did the same over pipes and brandy, dreaming of the wealth or status they would gain by alliances made to people they did not even like, so what could she say?

But when one of the ladies, her dear Aunt Hestia at that, turned her attention on her, Jasmine was quick to anger but honestly, she should not have been surprised.

“Why I was just speaking with my nephew, His Grace, yesterday about this, Jasmine my dear.”

“I would thank you to not discuss matters such as my marriage with my brother, Aunt Hestia.” Jasmine muttered through tightly clenched teeth. She had to look out the window, unable to stomach the sight of obscenely expensive gowns and false smiles surrounding her.

The parlor they currently occupied was one of the best kept rooms in the castle with plenty of overstuffed couches, pieces of expensive art, and elegant patterned wallpaper. Jasmine herself thought the room could use a little less pastel coloring and a more practical use for the shelves decorated with porcelain figurines, but it was a relic from when her mother had decorated it, and so in her honor, the room remained as it was.

To the sound of snickers and clattering teacups and saucers, Hestia waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, come now don’t speak to your aunt so. As the only older- though not by too much as I was borne much later after your father- female remaining in your immediate family, it falls to my more knowledgeable shoulders in these matters. And I take upmost pride in finding good matches for those in my care. Why take my lovely Serena for example. She was just a month out of finishing school before we had an understanding with Westergaard.”

“Aye and now I never see her as she is always in Daevon.” Jasmine was certain she sounded petulant, but it couldn’t be helped. She missed her cousin and had only seen her once in the five years since her marriage.

“That is not the point child. Serena and Sigrud are happy and now have a nursery full of little ones.”

With a sigh Jasmine had to admit that Aunt Hestia was correct in that regard. Though it had been an arranged marriage, the two had fallen in deep affection and proved it with an ever increasing number to their family. Serena was expecting their third child already.

“That might be so, but that life is not what I want.” Jasmine offered weakly.

It was though… a life with someone that could make her smile, who understood her curiosity, and follow her to the ends of the world just as she would follow them. And she might have had that once or twice… but that chance had been extinguished and she’d put that particular dream on a shelf with all the other ones.

“Nonsense. Every pretty young thing wants a husband. And you won’t be young for much longer if you keep waiting about. Now if you cut your hair and let that poor, surely suffering maid of yours style it, something to show off that pretty neck of yours and you could have four- no _six_ \- offers before the first snow fall. I shall plan a great ball and invite every bachelor in Kaedwen.”

Absently, without realizing what she was doing, Jasmine lifted a hand to touch the riot of red hair that spiraled freely over her shoulders and back. Her mother’s hair, as Atticus liked to say fondly with sad eyes that were their fathers.

“I will not be cutting my hair anytime soon and I’d like you to leave.” Jasmine said in a flat voice. “Immediately.”

Hestia paused with her teacup halfway to her lips, as well as many of the other ladies though they were more eager for the tension they sensed brewing in the air.

“I beg your pardon. Of course, you must lest the gentlemen believe you to have lice in that shaggy mane, and we still have matters to discuss in regard to the color of scarfs we ought to knit this year for the orphanage.”

Jasmine stood abruptly, pulling her shoulders back to try and give her small frame as much height and authority as she could. “The orphans do not need scarfs this year they need thick socks and sturdy coats, two of each in the colors of blues and reds. And must I repeat myself? I said I will not be cutting my hair! Now out of my home before I have you escorted out!”

Hestia’s gaze flashed but like the lady she’d been bred to be after centuries, she gently put her cup down and stood from the couch, the other ladies following suit. “His Grace will hear of this my dear niece. Your spoiled behavior is a disgrace to us all.”

“See that he does.” Jasmine snapped and turned her back on the lot of them, watching the gardens outside the window sway with the wind and rain. The entourage would be soaked as they tried to crowd into carriages, but she did not care.

“It’s that wild elf blood in her mother.” Hestia whispered loudly as they filed out of the room.

“So, it’s true then that Elena was a half elf?”

“None were able to confirm who Elena’s father was.”

“Well you know what they say about redheads…”

“Hestia has her hands full with that one.”

“I say marry her off to one of the colonels. A soldier ought to be able to- “

The door closed at last, cutting off the voices finally, and leaving Jasmine blessedly alone.

* * *

South of Lyra…

To say Iorveth and Ciaran were surprised with they followed the trail of captured Aen Seidhe to a grand manor just outside of the forest, would have been an understatement for neither had known this land was built upon.

Leaving the horses tied in the forest, they nocked arrows and stealthily slipped over felled logs, quietly through thick brambles, and nimbly over small creeks until they could safely scan the land surrounding the manor.

Iorveth silently signaled of two sighted guards to the north and another two on east wall. It was unknown on what awaited them on the other side of the small portcullis, but they had no time to do a proper scouting. Their people had been there at the least a week… a week too long.

As one, both of the once Scoia’tael soldiers quickly sighted their mark, drew back and then let their arrows fly, precisely aimed. They were already preparing their next aim as they watched their arrows soar into an arc, sink into the guards- and then pass through them as if they were made of mist.

Iorveth raised a hand, halting Ciaran’s next arrow and his comments at the same time. He studied the guards, watched for any movement, any reaction to the arrows that had just moments before entered their chests with precision.

There was none.

No movement at all could be seen, not the stretching of a muscle aching from standing for too long, not a scratch of an arse, nor spit of chewed tobacco. The four guards in their matching red tunics and iron helms were as still as statues.

“Something is not right.” Iorveth said quietly before slinking out of the shadows and closer to the manor, careful to stay out of sight of the motionless guards, Ciaran at his side. When he reached the stone wall of the manor, he pressed a hand to the stone and found it solid… but dry. “It’s an illusion. Magic.”

“Why do you say that?” Ciaran whispered, keeping watch as Iorveth studied the manor.

“It has been raining for days and the walls are dry. It isn’t a very good illusion however if our arrows were able to slip through the guards.”

“Alright so how do we get through the illusion?”

Iorveth sighed and gathered his thoughts. “A certain acquaintance of ours is sure to have some nonsense relic but we lack the time to search for him. So… we go through the front door.”

Ciaran curled his lip and switched his bow for a sword. “Be ready for anything.”

“Aye.” Iorveth muttered, drawing two blades and rolling his shoulders.

* * *

Elevoss…

Dinner was a tense affair to say the least in the small dining hall the three siblings used for everyday informal suppers. Servants shared knowing glances as they refilled goblets and removed trays of food to make room for the next serving.

Atticus pointedly stared at Jasmine while gingerly eating his meal just as she pointedly ignored him and spent a great deal of time cutting the lamb chop with a bit more fervor than was required. Theodore worried his bottom lip, glancing between the two, occasionally opening his mouth as if to say something, thought better of it and closed it once more only to take a deep drink of his wine.

There was no doubt that Hestia had spoken heatedly to Atticus about their exchange and that the moment the final course had been finished she would be politely but firmly ordered to adjourn to her brothers study where she would receive a scolding and likely be threatened with marriage once more.

It was enough to make her stomach turn and continue to refuse to eat the rich food that she herself had planned for.

She did feel awful for Theodore as she allowed herself to meet his imploring gaze once before staring at the gravy bowl in the center of the table for the remainder of the meal. Theo was gentle and just wanted everyone to get along. He’d rather they be laughing and teasing each other instead of the stony silence that was becoming increasingly more common as the years went by.

The moment Atticus sat his fork down with a clink, Jasmine was on her feet, and just as expected, her brothers commanding voice paused her departure.

“A word in my study if you please Jasmine.”

“And if I don’t please Atticus?” Came her uselessly stubborn question, her gaze still on the gravy bowl.

“Then go anyways.”

Tilting her chin up, Jasmine left without another word, the footsteps of her brothers following her the only sound in the castle.

“Please sit.” The ever courteous Atticus said as he closed the door and came around to sit in his high backed desk chair. Theodore moved to lean a shoulder on the wall next to the fireplace that had a gentle fire warming the room, folding his arms and worrying his lip continuously.

The study had changed little from the days of their father’s place behind the desk, but it was certainly elegant and tidy, if not a bit rustic like much of their great castle. Where the lady’s parlor was soft and feminine, the lord’s study was a place of business. Atticus preferred to enjoy is rare moments of free time in the hillocks training sheepdog pups.

“I’ll remain standing for this scolding as if I were a child thank you.” Jasmine replied with a clipped voice.

Atticus studied her with a sad expression, his fingers interlaced and resting on a stack of papers in the center of the grand desk.

“If you insist on acting like a child then you shall continue to be scolded like one Jasmine. I have many- many responsibilities, several disturbing reports about things I cannot speak of, and I do not have the time to deal with childish antics. Speaking to me with disrespect; I can stomach so long as it’s in privacy, as you are my sister and I know I can be an overbearing ass who- at times- deserves it. But to speak to not just your aunt with such disrespect but to do it in such a public way… It cannot be allowed Jasmine. It isn’t done.”

Jasmine remained silent, staring at the fire.

“Have you no excuses to offer? No defense to sway punishment?” Atticus implored stiffly. Almost as if he wanted her to put up a fight.

“None that you do not already know.”

“I suppose that this is becoming a repeated conflict. The same words and emotions, just another day.”

“Quite.” Jasmine agreed.

“Then you know the punishment?”

“I do but I will not apologize. Not this time.”

“Why not?”

Jasmine pulled her gaze to his and leaned forward to brace her hands on his desk. “You did not hear what _she_ said afterward brother. It was horrible and the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.” Even now, hours later, her throat was closing painfully to keep the anger within her at bay.

Something about her expression must have convinced him for Atticus had instant concern in his gaze.

“What is it? What did she say that has affected you so?”

“Sh-she said that mother was half elf.” Jasmine felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. “H-how could she say such a thing so _publicly_ and then come to you and speak about my display of disrespect? She’s a horrible woman, spouting such lies.”

Atticus shared a glance with Theodore, both looking uncomfortable and saddened.

His hesitation however when he met her gaze once more had Jasmine straightening, dread seeping into her bones. “It- it’s not true is it?” Silence. “How can it be true? Why would _they_ do what they did to her and Poppa if she were of their people? It doesn’t make sense! And thinking about what they did to innocents during the war…”

“I don’t have an answer for your Jaz… the elf that took you and our parents’ prisoner was not a good person. But that doesn’t mean that all elves are like that… Innocent elves were murdered and abused just as much as humans all in the name of war… and perhaps our elven grandfather was one of the good ones.”

Jasmine scrubbed her hands over her face in a helpless attempt to gain control of her emotions before dropping them to her sides limply with a sigh. “Logically, I know that. Not all humans are decent, not all monsters are out to eat you, it goes on and on. It’s just- more difficult when you’ve heard the words _‘drown in blood filthy dh’oine’_ as you watch your parents bleed out, a blade seconds from plunging into your own stomach.” 

It wasn’t in her to expand on just how much heartbreak she had experienced at the hands of elves, as her brothers just knew about this one instance. They could never know about the other.

“You were just a small girl at the time… It was a difficult experience, I know.”

But Atticus didn’t truly know. He had not been there on one of the worst days of her life so how could he truly _know_. The voice speaking those words, haunted her still, all these years later, the eyes watched her from shadows, the point of a blade pressing into the soft skin of her stomach.

Theodore however… Jasmine met his gaze. He understood. He had felt the blade slice down his back, but he’d had enough strength to take his small decorative dagger and end put an end to it all.

She was exhausted and ready for this to end, but the stubborn streak that was usually the cause of such fights refused to allow her to leave it at Atticus’ poorly chosen last words.

“If the father of our mother was a decent, upstanding sort, then where is he Atticus? Why did he leave us alone when we had nothing but _Aunt_ Hestia for comfort?”

A long heavy silence thickened in the study before Atticus sat back, his posture falling. “Perhaps he was taken from her as ours was taken from us.”

Theodore’s soft voice followed. “An endless circle of violence.”

Wearily, Jasmine turned away at last, but she paused at the door before leaving. “Punish me with restricting me to helping in the kitchens if you wish Atticus, and again deny my wish to attend a proper academy, but I will not apologize to a single one of those ladies. And I will not cut my hair, not for the marriage of the lowest of beggars nor the highest of kings. I will have control over at least one part of my life.”

The closing of the door was the only sound to follow her.

* * *

South of Lyra…

Stepping through the door of the manor had melted the illusion, leaving behind the dark entrance to a cave spiraling downward. Silently Iorveth and Ciaran moved down the wooden ramp lining the cavern wall, trading a misty evening for a musty darkness broken only by the occasional torch hissing on the wall.

Near the bottom, Iorveth made out the form of a lone guard, this one dressed in stained leathers and ragged armor, and unlike the illusions up top, he moved restlessly and belched after a long drink from a flask he held in his hand.

The drunken man never saw the blade that deeply slit his throat nor the face that commanded it.

After the first, it was an easy task of dispatching the three that followed, one pissing on the wall, two sleeping with the rats.

The cavern was expansive, with many tunnels ending with collapsed ceilings and more than one skeleton of a long dead miner left behind.

“Why would someone bring stolen Aen Seidhe down here?” Ciaran whispered as they backtracked from yet another dead end.

“I don’t know… but it’s quiet. Too quiet.” Iorveth whispered back before taking the next tunnel. He fought back a shudder as the scent of death hit him. Blood and body fluids saturated the stale air, but there was something else to it. “Magic again.”

“ _Bloede._ How long has it been since we’ve taken on a wizard?”

“Not long enough.”

But Iorveth wasn’t worried about facing a mage. He might come out more singed and bruised than he’d like but a mage bled easily just like any other. The knot of worry in his chest came from the suspicion that they were too late.

* * *

Elevoss…

Alone in her room, Jasmine was aimless, just as she always was after a row with Atticus and this one had been even more emotionally charged than usual. She did not enjoy thinking about the day her life had changed, nor the anger that had filled her since… and she tried, she really did try to not blame an entire race for the action of a single person. 

Hell, how _could_ she hate them when she… she… could love so fiercely.

Jasmine knew she was better than that… _wanted_ to be better. But perhaps she was an awful person and deserved to be married off to the highest bidder.

Listlessly, she stood in the center of her room, her gaze touching on the four walls she had occupied for twenty-three years. The bed neatly made with thick blankets and furs to fight the cold. Dressers stuffed with clothing, dresses and cloaks hanging from pegs in the wardrobe, shoes neatly lining the bottom. Her desk was a bit more untidy as were the shelves that occupied much of the wall space. They were covered in books, scrolls, rocks, jars of specimens, plants over growing their pots, microscopes, crystals, magnifying glasses, quills, inks, maps, and a few locked chests where she hid artifacts of a more magical nature.

As all ladies that lived in castles did, there was a balcony that faced away from the city and overlooked the garden and the mountains beyond. More than once as a young naive lass, she’d daydreamed of handsome lads beckoning to her from the garden below, and they’d escape into the mountain wilderness on grand adventures while falling in love.

She knew better now. Handsome lads didn’t want to take ladies on adventures. So, she had to steal away, risking her brother’s wrath, and find her own. 

Her intention to look through her newly acquired rocks had been forgotten about entirely and eventually she curled up in the window seat with a pile of correspondence and sorted through, tossing obligatory invites from households across Elevoss and a few neighboring territories into one pile. A few childhood acquaintances, primarily Serena writing to let her know that she’d safely delivered her latest child, a daughter to go with her two sons and invited her to come visit and meet the newest addition.

Jasmine was strongly considering as it had been years since shed been beyond the borders of Elevoss.

A few flyers from merchants, a wanted poster with a poorly done sketch of a scarred Scoia’tael elf and another of Ossie- a conman from Aedirn as well as someone requesting information about the Rawls gang last seen heading into their area, the announcement of the engagement of some Kaedwen noble she’d never met, and an invite to an Oxenfurt lecture on the solar system from one of the scholars she’d taken to writing over the years. Something she would have begged to go to just a day before but now she wouldn’t even bother wasting her breath.

With a scoff, she tossed the invite into the pile to be burned.

Another dream on the shelf and to be forgotten about.

Brow pressed against the cold panes watching the stormy clouds hovering above the glen, she finally whispered the words that had been echoing through her mind since morning.

_“Let her go Theo… she will not go far this time.”_

“We shall see about that big brother.”

The fire in the fireplace from across the room danced in a sudden flare, catching her eye, and bringing a small smile to her once frozen lips.

* * *

South of Lyra…

They worked long into the night, stripped down to their trousers and boots as sweat and lingering mist beaded down their backs and chest. For Iorveth, blood trailed down a shallow cut to his shoulder while Ciaran had a cut to his brow from the surgical tools the wizard threw at them with a telekinetic burst of magic… it would have been comical had the circumstances not been so tragic.

Using mining equipment found deep in the cavern, Iorveth and Ciaran dug six _carns_ , carried out the mangled bodies of six mutilated Aen Seidhe, and laid them to rest. It was unfortunate to Iorveth that they could not be returned to their loved ones, but they could at least see that their bodies were cared for in death if not life.

Once the last stone was placed over the last _carn_ , wordlessly they returned to the cave, stepping over the string of bodies, one of which was missing a head and began to task of searching for anything useful.

A bag of coins to give the grieving, a sack of food to fill their bellies, and a few weapons to arm the defenseless. Beyond that, there were no answers explaining what and why the now headless wizard had taken six innocents and tortured them into death. When Ciaran had asked him why, after all he had seen, this kind of slaughter continued, Iorveth had not had an answer for him.

Now, with the sun beginning to rise, bringing gentle light to the forest they now made their way through, returning to the little village that would soon be grieving their loss, Iorveth had an answer but he did not speak it.

Their people were cursed. Centuries of war, betrayal, anger, death, and reckless decisions had driven them to the edge of annihilation… and perhaps they deserved the slaughter for they were no stranger to taking the lives of innocents.

More than ever, Iorveth wished for that warm fire at his feet.

* * *


	2. As Adventures Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I just finished writing chapter three and I'm so excited about starting chapter four!!
> 
> How are yall??? Thank yall for the great response to chapter 1!! Some familiar names and new, all yall make this writers heart melt <3 SO I cant promise a set posting schedule, it'll always be one written and ready to go once I write the following one.

* * *

* * *

Elevoss…

Working in the kitchens was a common occurrence for the young lady of the castle, beginning from her long ago stunt of climbing from the balcony of her room and clumsily making her way to the top of the slanted roof over the west wing. Her slipping and sliding had indeed caused a stir and a very angry Atticus had sent a ten year old Jasmine to scrub pots for a week.

The kitchen staff had been stiff and unsure about her, certain that the child would refuse to do her job, and if they angered her, they feared she might throw a tantrum as they often heard of her loud displays with her brothers.

But she had surprised them all with her endless chatter about her maps and books, asked them countless questions about their lives and why eggs were important or wanting to watch for hours while bread rose. And even more than that, she actually did the tasks she was meant to do.

Scrub pots, peel potatoes, stir batter, run ingredients around… there wasn’t a thing she didn’t do without question.

Jasmine couldn’t say the staff were her friends, for they all knew the line between their status, and that she had crossed it once before with the results ending badly, but they at least looked on her kindly and smiled at her stories.

So, Atticus sending her to the kitchen as punishment for speaking to her aunt so, was in short, no punishment at all. If he wished to punish her, he should send her to the stables to muck out stalls or oil tack.

Jasmine didn’t mind the hard work of the kitchen. When she rolled up the sleeves on her plainest dress, tied her hair up in a knot and got to work, it saved her from the boredom that awaited her outside the kitchen door.

But it also it gave her much time to think on her life.

And after four days in the kitchen for twelve hours a day, she had thought _a lot_.

About who she wanted to be as a person. What she wanted to do. Where she wanted to end up… and if there was anyone there with her when she did.

Perhaps these were things she should be discussing with Atticus and Theodore… and possibly even Aunt Hestia… but she wasn’t ready yet. She still had a lot of anger and hurt within her that no amount of scouring pots would melt away.

Jasmine set the last pot aside and dried her hands on her apron before studying the reddened and puffy skin. Greta was going to throw a fit over the state of them and have her soak her hands in lotion for hours…

But it couldn’t be helped.

Turning away from the steaming tub of water, Jasmine caught sight of one of the kitchen lads eyeing the larder and squinting down at the paper held in his hands. The look of distress prompted her to join his side and peer over his shoulder to see he had a list of food before him.

“Everything alright Cole?” She asked lightly so as to not startle the boy.

It didn’t work as he still jumped, whirling to face her with eyes wide with freight that quickly melted into relief.

“Oh Ladyship, I’m supposed to be checking off foods but- but well I can’t read. Well I _can_ read, but not all of these… like this one here.” Cole pointed a grubby finger to one of the words on the paper.

Jasmine smiled and straightened up. “Saffron. A spice from a very lovely flower and we use it in several dishes but mainly with risotto since it is His Grace’s favorite. Let us see if we have any…” Peering into the pantry, she read over the labels and searched out the vibrant red spice. “Help me look for a red spice- no that is a kind of pepper- let’s see… nope none that I see.” She scanned down the list. “Have you seen the cheese larder- no? Well shall we see if we require anything from there?”

By the end of the list, Jasmine and Cole had determined that they were in need of saffron, cheese, cabbage, and most importantly- coffee beans. Normally the housekeeper would send one of the older boys to do the shopping, but Jasmine felt the need to stretch her legs and gained permission for Cole to come along as it would be great training for when he was a bit older and the new lad doing the shopping.

Not bothering to dress in something more befitting of her station, Jasmine made certain Cole had a warm jacket and borrowed one of the maids woolen shawls before leaving the castle with a basket held in the crook of her arm and Cole telling her about the mouse that lived behind the stove.

The late afternoon sky was darkly overcast with a bite to the air that sent a shiver down Jasmine’s spine. The mountains were on the cusps of winter, a blistery one at that. She had a love for the cold winter that meant days spent by the fireplace with her studies. But a dislike for as well since the risk of frozen toes and fingers kept her inside.

“Hands in the pockets Cole. Seems we’re in for another early winter. I hope the Dodd’s have repaired their barns… I’ll speak with His Grace about a barn raising if they haven’t.” Jasmine said while leading the way from the kitchen exit, through the servant’s courtyard and out the eastern portcullis where servants, merchants, and other lower born guests entered from the castle town proper.

Despite the chill, Elevoss was a bustle of activity.

The forges were hot and smoky in contrast to the shops and houses, their hammers ringing away as iron was smelted into ingots and prepared for shipments. Farmers were haggling prices with merchants, servants calling out orders to shop lads, ladies and maids examining the quality of fabrics and necessary materials needed for their day to day lives.

It was an impressive little castle town, with the wealthy district, several market squares, entertainment in the form of taverns, sparring rings, and… not much else as they were rather out of the way so traveling troubadours rarely came by to use the amphitheater her grandmother had built for her father many decades ago.

But there were local festivals, competitions, races, gatherings, and each marriage ceremony, birthing, or honorable death was an excuse to open the barrels of ale and dance the night away.

Jasmine was used to the glances she received, as even though she often dressed down when running errands around the castle town, her red hair was a dead give away to her identity. A cloak would have been welcome but that would have meant climbing four flights of stairs.

“We will actually need to make two stops if we’re to find everything we require. The herbalists for the saffron, and one of the food markets for the rest. Shouldn’t take but half an hour, so step lightly lad.”

“Yes ma’am!” Cole said smartly, walking at her side with a proud tilt to his chin, making her smile.

He was sweet boy, his mother being one of the older upstairs maids and if she weren’t mistaken, his father a foot soldier. She’d have to do something about his education… open more options up to the boy beyond the kitchens. Perhaps see if he had a knack for digging up rocks… Oft times she could use an extra set of hands when prying out quartzite.

Soon the two were stepping into the warmth of the herbalists, both shaking off the damp cold and inhaling the ever changing assortment of scents. All around the small shop, bundles of plants hung from the ceiling, drying out the leaves, some plants remained potted and fresh, some were bottled or held in pouches, ready to be weighed and sold. The keeper welcomed them and measured out the requested amount of saffron. With the spice in hand and the bill marked to be sent to the castle for payment, they set off for the market.

There was no break from the cold this time as they stood by the stall, waiting for the groceries to be measured and handed over. Cole’s nose and cheeks were adorably red but his eyes were bright as he took in the lessons she was giving about how to know when the merchant was trying to up the price on something just because they suspected you could afford it and the perfect way to word the threat to go to a different merchant with better prices.

On the walk back to the castle, a curious sight caught her attention. A dwarf with a thick black beard braided down to his belt was frantically digging through several chests stacked haphazardly around a little wagon being drawn by a patiently waiting pony.

Jasmine liked to think she knew just about every face, name, and how each were related throughout Elevoss, as new faces were rare and usually noticed quickly and their story spread within a day of their arrival. But this young dwarf had obviously just rolled in this very day, a fresh new face in a land of familiar ones.

As she and Cole neared, she could hear him muttering that his life was surely forfeit now, this time for good.

Though it was cold, Jasmine couldn’t resist her curiosity and it had been a good long time since something interesting had happened around her.

Jasmine eyed the horse carefully when she stopped next to the cart and cleared her throat, Cole watching on curiously.

“Hello there.” She spoke clearly and with authority as had been taught to her since she were in nappies.

The busy dwarf spared her a glance, looked back to his barrels, boxes, and chests, then immediately turned back, giving Jasmine his full, wide eyed attention.

“Oh, hello there missy. I’m afraid I cannot help you at the moment but if you come by on the morrow, I’m sure to be able to fix anything you need fixin’.”

Jasmine found the young dwarf endearing with his warm brown eyes beneath bushy black brows and cold reddened nose.

“Actually… I was wondering if there was anything I could help you with… you seem quite distressed.”

“Oh, nothing a fine lady such as yourself need worry about. All will be in order once I find my tools.”

Jasmine looked down at her clothing, the apron dingy from dish water, and the hem of her dress dirty from the street. “Fine lady?” She asked.

“Aye, your speech gives it away… and your fancy lady hands.”

Smiling in understanding, Jasmine held out a hand. “Ah, quite clever you are. I am indeed Lady Jasmine, and this is Cole who is newly learning the ways of kitchen duties.”

“Dhoken Cigrast, pleasure to meet you if you don’t mind.” Dhoken gave Jasmine’s hand a vigorous shake before doing the same to Cole, nearly bringing the boy to his knees. “Listen to all her ladyship says boy, she seems to have a straight head on her shoulders even if she could be a bit cleverer in her disguise.”

Cole seemed quite shocked at the minor insult, but Jasmine chuckled warmly, charmed by his bluntness.

“To be fair, I was not making the attempt to disguise myself, this is what I wear when my brother believes my temperament needs to be adjusted. But you have given me excellent advice should I indeed find myself in need of disguise.”

“Wear gloves to hide your fancy lady hands too.”

Jasmine winked in thanks, earning a chuckle from Dhoken.

“Pleasantries aside, I was quite serious when I offered to help, and I will not take no for an answer. In fact, you would be doing me a great service by giving me something to do rather than just answering letters and inspecting the food stores.”

Dhoken eyed her seriously, tugging at the whiskers at the corner of his mouth. “You do seem like a sturdy lass… alright, I’ll tell you but not so that you fix my problem for me, but to give aid should it be needed.”

“Agreed.”

“Well… I’m new to Elevoss as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Traveled all the way from Novigrad I did. Striking out on my own and all that. Heard about the profitable mines up in your little mountain. I was hired on by the Ingvald laddie.” He waved a hand to the forge sign swaying in the breeze above them. “Grateful I am to him for giving me a chance but… I did so with the promise that I came with my own tools. Hammers, tongs, files, vices, cutters… all passed down from father to son for as long as there has been the name Cigrast.” Dhoken scrubbed a hand over his face and down his beard. “I packed them in the crate with the pride and joy of my family, the first sword a Cigrast ever forged. Blessed by an elf wizard ages ago or some such magical nonsense. But the tools, the sword, the crate… all of its gone. And now I’m ruined after spending my last copper to get here.”

The look of such utter despair on the poor dwarf’s face was too much to bear and Jasmine had to resist the need to pull the almost weeping Dhoken in for a comforting hug. Instead she settled for placing a hand on his shoulder and drawing his glassy gaze to hers.

“Now then, here in Elevoss we want all our citizens to be successful. What kind of lady would I be if I didn’t ensure you had every advantage to see your dream come true? Here Cole, run this back to the kitchen, they will have surely missed you by now and let anyone who asks know that I’m assisting a newcomer.” Jasmine handed a hesitant Cole the basket of food. “Go now, I will be along soon.”

“Aye Lady Jasmine.” Cole said at last and swiftly disappeared down the cobbled stone street.

Jasmine hoisted herself onto the back of the wagon, folded her chilled hands in her skirts and leaned her elbows on her thighs. “Alright Dhoken… I have a knack for finding… things. Tell me the last place you might have laid eyes on this missing crate.”

Dhoken raised up a finger before rushing to dig around a leather satchel, drawing out a map.

Jasmine smiled at the sight of the worn sheet of paper… and the air tingled with the hint of adventure.

* * *

* * *

Mahakam…

“Temeria?”

“Yaevinn is already consolidating all Scoia’tael in Temeria.”

“Kovir?”

“They were neutral. Scoia’tael never went that far north.”

“Brokilon.”

“No… those who have sought refuge in the forest will not wish to leave until they are ready.”

“We could stay there… for the winter at least.”

Iorveth swept a hand across the ground near his hip where he sat leaning back against a boulder. The pebbles in his leather gloved hand were dusty and grey, little to distinct them from the rest of the surroundings that were the northern fringes of Mahakam.

One by one he tossed them at the fire burning between himself and Ciaran where they disappeared into the slowly dancing flames.

He was growing frustrated with this aimless wandering, this lack of a true purpose. Ciaran still considered him to be a commander, the leader of freedom fighters that he had been for so very long, but Iorveth was at a loss as how to tell Ciaran that he was no longer that _dhuine_.

The war was over and the northern realms were in control of someone who didn’t order out right slaughter of Aen Seidhe… though Scoia’tael were still wanted as war criminals with very few refuges and so while Yaevinn and the others argued over how to reignite the fire of rebellion within their people, Iorveth just wanted them to survive and rebuild.

And where to do that rebuilding, that had been something Iorveth had been working toward for too many years now. With too many failures and setbacks.

“The world feels small.” Ciaran said quietly when Iorveth didn’t reply immediately.

Tilting his head back, Iorveth studied the faint shadow of mountains to the west. Beyond them lay Temeria and all that he’d done to it. But even further than that… the crashing of waves and the salt in the air called to him and long ago dreams.

But… when he looked to the north… to the Blue Mountains- _Glas Arda-_ just visible on the dark horizon. They whispered of promises and desires. But he knew a _dhuine_ _could disappear beyond those snowy peaks and forget about the world._

Ciaran was correct. The world did feel small. Unless one was pulled into too many directions. But there was another thing that Ciaran was correct about.

Winter was settling in and they would need somewhere to wait it out.

An idea just occurred to him when the horse’s ears twitched just a heartbeat before the sound of a rock falling in the shadows alerted him to an intruder. Silently and seamlessly, Iorveth and Ciaran found their feet and drew their swords.

“ _Ceádmil_ young warriors, just an old _dhuine_ looking to warm his bones by the fire.” A voice rumbled from the darkness. A moment later an Aen Seidhe stepped into the light, his empty hands held aloft, and peace in his face. His clothing was that of a traveler, a sweat stained shirt with laces tied, leather leggings tucked into dusty boots. A heavy pack could be seen beneath the long, ratty cloak, giving the appearance of a hunched back. Other than the small bow, a handful of hunting arrows, and a dagger strapped to his belt, there appeared to be no other weapons.

Iorveth eyed him suspiciously, but he did lower his sword slightly, Ciaran following suit.

“Ah the youth are so suspicious these days.” The stranger said, a smile in his aged eyes.

“What is your business _alma_?” Ciaran asked though the threat in his face had all but melted away.

“Aihann please. I am making a long journey to my homeland and saw your fire in the distance. I hoped to find a friendly face or two and perhaps someone to travel with.”

There was something familiar about Aihann that Iorveth just couldn’t place and the frustration had him more suspicious than ever. “We’re not going the same direction. _Va fáill._” He used the blade of the sword to point in the direction Aihann had come from.

Before the elder could plead, he doubled over in a sudden fit of coughing that had Ciaran setting his sword aside and offering a supportive hand. Iorveth wanted to warn his friend to be wary but the coughing Aihann seemed to be posing little threat and all dismissal was forgotten as Ciaran helped then stranger to the fire to sit before retrieving a waterskin.

Iorveth waited impatiently for the Aihann to get his coughing under control, still standing with sword drawn.

_“ Scíth_. I am fine. Thank you for the water and assistance young one.” Aihann said at last, waving Ciaran back a step before turning startling blue eyes on Iorveth. “As for you… I did not even tell you my destination.”

Shrugging carelessly, Iorveth stepped until he had the fire between himself and Aihann, with a twitch of a finger he signaled for Ciaran to do the same. “It does not matter. Share the fire and warmth if you wish, but by sunrise we will have left.”

Aihann tilted his head slightly, stretching his hands out to the fire. “Aen Seidhe should be together, helping and keeping each other safe.”

“I agree. They we should be.”

“And yet you would look at me with such open suspicion and turn me away?”

Iorveth knew he should feel shame at the accusation and hurt in the _alma’s_ familiar eyes. He should be welcoming every Aen Seidhe that he came across, and once there was a time that he had… but now things were different.

“I have my reasons _alma_. For now, I will set them aside so that you can rest warmly. And then we will part quietly.” Iorveth said, resigning himself to a sleepless night of keeping watch.

Ciaran sheathed his sword before offering Aihann a leg of rabbit.

“ _Tasha_. Might I know the names of the young warriors?”

Ciaran opened his mouth but was cut off before he could speak.

“Gaiven, and he is Selonn.” Iorveth immediately spoke the false names, almost as if he’d thought of them long ago and had been saving them.

“Ah.” Aihann nodded around a long yawn. As he maneuvered his pack from his back, and settled down to use it as a pillow, he smiled at Iorveth. “Strong names for strong warriors. I shall sleep well tonight.”

The knowing look in those eyes made him uncomfortable and he wished for nothing more in that moment than for Aihann to hurry asleep. He nodded for Ciaran to do the same however, and finally put away his sword.

He settled atop a boulder and propped an arm on a raised knee, watching the darkness for more intruders.

“ _Glas Arda_. Have you been there?” Aihann spoke just when Iorveth believed he’d fallen asleep.

Iorveth tamped down the sudden leap of emotion in his chest and didn’t take his gaze from the darkness where he knew the mountains lie.

“I have.”

“Crown of the North. The beauty within those mountain passes unmatched.”

He did not reply to the _alma,_ _did not tell him just how well he knew the Crown of the North_. Once, he would have agreed but he was wiser now. There was no beauty in this world, not when it suffered so.

_“Scíth_ Gaiven. _Scíth._ _I will trouble you no more.”_

Long ago Iorveth had accepted that there would be no peace for him. Long into the night, well after Aihann at last succumbed to snores and dreams, he thought about the future. He’d been doing that a great deal lately, and what he wanted out of it. The realistic version… not the fantastic fairy tale that he’d fed Ciaran.

But exactly what _was_ realistic… what was within his grasp, he spent hours trying to put it to words.

Maybe there was nothing after the next day, week, season, year. Just a series of moments intertwined with the moments of others until there was nothing left of one or the other or none at all.

By morning Iorveth nudged Ciaran just moments before the sky began to lighten. Soundlessly they gathered their gear, mounted the horses, and left Aihann still asleep by what was left of the fire.

It would be hours more before Iorveth spoke of their destination.

* * *

* * *

Elevoss…

With a light spring in her step, Jasmine dressed like a proper lady, braided her hair, and with a whirl of her fur lined cloak, slipped from her room.

“Good morning brothers.” She greeted airily when she joined them in the breakfast room, but she did not take a seat and linger. Instead she shook out a napkin and piled a few hard boiled eggs, slices of toast, a handful of sausages and two apples in the center and began to tie it up.

“Morning Jazzy.” Theodore said with a happy chirp, relieved to see her back in their company and in good spirits.

“Good morning sister.” Atticus added as well as clearing his throat. “Plans?”

She carefully kept her gaze on her task. “Indeed. There is a new blacksmith in a bit of trouble over his lost tools so I thought I would try to cheer him up with a proper breakfast before he breaks the news to Ingvald.”

Both men cringed in unison, as while Ingvald was a fair dwarf, he had a temper that could and has put Atticus in his place when the occasion called for it.

“Best take some of these…” Atticus held a plate of sticky buns which Jasmine happily placed in the center of fresh napkin.

“Here, these as well.” Theodore dumped a fistful of bacon onto the napkin.

“Right then. I will return when I’ve seen to my quest.”

Theodore chuckled and patted her head. “Good luck on your quest.”

Hiding her wicked smirk in the hood of her cloak as she turned to leave, she held the bundles of food close and left as light footed as she’d come, the farewells of her brothers following her out.

Her smirk turned into a full fledged grin of relief when the castle doors closed behind her. Eyes alight on the grey sky morning, a deep lung full of crisp air, and the relief that spread through her body.

The magic of adventure hovered around her, and she could not wait another moment to meet it head on.

But first she had a slight detour to make, one that had her slipping down an unused alley for a few moments before she was back on the path.

The city was well and truly awake by now, with servants leaving the wealthy residences and heading into the market squares, merchants were setting out wares, news criers calling out that Kovir had their eye on Redania in the wake of Radovid’s murder- something as shocking as that was sure to garner paper leaflet sales, children complaining about chores, and bakers calling out that the bread was ready.

Expertly, Jasmine wound her way through the bustle of people until she came to the row of apartments where bachelor men usually rented. Soon she found the door she was searching for, marked with a number three in the center and gave a hearty knock.

The sound startled a nearby crow into taking flight, shooting to the right before abruptly changing course and turning to the left where it disappeared into the chimney smoke of the next apartment.

The flight it’s self was enough to give Jasmine pause, but the four feathers that softly floated down to rest by her feet had her quickly reaching for the moonstone pendant. A wave of true panic slammed into her when she found that her neck was bare, the necklace gone.

But she was not given time to think about it missing as Dhoken opened the door, his glance down her body appraisingly.

“Ah I see you found a proper disguise; I hardly recognize you.”

Jasmine glanced down at her dark brown wool leggings shoved into well worn leather boots, a tightly buckled jerkin, hair tucked away in a beret, and a ratty traveler’s cloak to replace her expensive cloak.

“I keep a set hidden away for just this reason.” Jasmine said with a slight grin, forcing her voice to be a bit less refined and more like the maids.

“You got the voice down too, nice. And the sword?” Dhoken eyed the short sword belted to her hip.

“Best to be prepared. And yes, I know how to use it and yes, I have had to use it. May I please?” Jasmine held her hand out impatiently. She was ready to put the city walls behind her for a while.

“Alright, alright. Here you go.” Dhoken placed a folded sheet of paper in her hand which she quickly opened, examined the sketch of the missing chest, tools, and blade before folding it back and stuffing into the pack she carried on her shoulder.

“And this is for you.” She passed over a napkin of food that she’d divided up during her detour to change clothing and grab her traveling gear.

Dhoken shook his head and held his hands up in refusal. “Oh no, you need this more than I do… unless you’re certain I can’t come with you? Sending you off feels… wrong. You’re practically a princess.”

With a roll of her eyes, Jasmine picked out a sticky bun and shoved it into his hands. “I told my brothers that I was bringing food to cheer up someone in the path of Ingvald’s wrath. I’m not a liar so here you are.” She turned to walk away while shoving the remaining food back into her pack and adjusting the strap. At the bottom of the stairs she turned back to look at Dhoken’s worried expression. “Honestly, I do this all the time. And Atticus _was_ fourth in line to the throne but that was before Radovid killed Henselt, who was then killed by Dijkstra or something like that. These days, I’m pretty far away from princess.”

He gave no more protest but waved her off with a shake of his head, and Jasmine gladly began her journey.

Leaving the city was easy enough as there was a steady line of people coming and going, and the crowd thinned as the road splintered off into varying directions until she was all alone for the first time in months.

All around her, mountains rose high into the sky, the early snow gleaming in the muted sunlight, teasing that they would soon be coming for Elevoss. Trees rustled in the wind, their leaves captured and carried away to land in the babbling creeks where they would make the journey to the low lands.

To the north were the elven ruins where she’d first felt the edges of her gift and found a circlet made of gold, enchanted to give one sharp vision in darkness. Her parents had not been pleased with her and they had taken the treasure and locked it away in the vaults where it remained to this day.

The Quiet Woods bordered the road she currently traveled, a cave deep inside where she’d fallen through and nearly broke her neck.

Several sheep wandered across the road as a dog nipped at their heels, back onto land farmed by the Oggery family.

A watchtower long ago fallen into disuse could be seen far in the south, near her destination, a place she’d taken cover in many times with a fabulous view of the night sky and down into the Kaedwen low lands if the mountain mist had melted away.

She didn’t see much of life outside the occasional bird or rabbit as she made her journey to the last place Dhoken had seen his missing crate. There was rarely a person to be seen this far north of Ard Carraigh with Dhoken being the first in months so she felt confident in her ability to examine the camp and determine where the looters might have gone next.

There was a detailed map in her pack, but honestly at this point she knew the unchanging land so well that it was not needed. She never- well at least not since she was a teenager- got lost.

When the sun was finally high above, bringing a bit of welcome warmth after a week of cold, Jasmine ate a small serving of food, filled a waterskin in the brook, and then veered off to where Dhoken had taken his last break during his long journey.

The ruts from his cart were deep from the rainy weather he’d traveled through, the small fire he’d attempted had barely charred the log. A few bones were scattered around, leftover from a fish he’d caught and the core of an apple.

His foot prints were easily distinguished from the others that were scattered around where the wagon and horse had settled. Evidence that indeed while Dhoken had been fishing, three others had helped themselves to his cart.

They were either sloppy or thought Dhoken oblivious for they had not bothered to try and hide their evidence. She suspected the later as her new friend had obviously had his head in the clouds and didn’t notice the mess in the mud.

Shaking her head, she left the camp and followed the footprints into the forest.

The sun was setting quickly now that they had left summer behind, and she knew her lack of presence was without a doubt, definitely noted by now, but it looked as if she would be spending at least one night out in the wilderness.

Her hope was that she would find the camp of the looters abandoned with Dhoken’s belongings left behind for whatever reason. If, in the case that the bandits had not left it- which was more likely anyways- then that she could quickly slip in, take the tools and sword, and slip out.

The memory of the omens from the morning flashed through her mind, and she again reached for the moonstone only to be reminded that she’d lost it. Regret sank into her chest until she promised herself that she would turn Elevoss upside down to find it when she returned.

For now, she would just have to treat the omens as the warning that they were.

Trouble was ahead in some form or fashion.

But that didn’t take away from the comfort she found in being on a noble quest.

* * *

* * *

Vergen…

Iorveth and Ciaran were welcomed by one Zoltan Chivay with hearty handshakes and loud introductions to the rest of the Iron Cauldron’s occupants, several of which Iorveth recalled from his last visit to the dwarven city.

The tavern was warm and dry, scents of tobacco smoke mingled with body odor, mediocre alcohol, and most importantly, food, which Zoltan called for the moment the two Aen Seidhe sat at his table. They left their weapons close in hand but otherwise made themselves comfortable after a long day’s hard travel.

Tired of sleeping on the ground, Iorveth had pushed their horses hard to make it before it was too dark for the horses to travel, and they’d made it just so. Now he wanted nothing more than to fill his belly, smoke his pipe, and rest his bones for a few hours.

Ciaran too from the heavy lidded expression he sat listening to Zoltan with.

“It’s good to see you lads looking so hearty but what brought you blowin into Vergen with worn out horses and appetites more akin for a troll?”

Iorveth didn’t answer at first as he lifted his bowl and finished off the broth to the stew he’d just downed.

“Passing through and heading north for the winter.”

Zoltan nodded sagely. “Good sturdy place where no one will think to find ya.”

“What about you? Thought you were keeping Jaskier out of trouble.”

Zoltan laughed, paused to take a long drink, and then continued with his raucous laughter. “That lass of his, Priscilla is doing that well enough though from his last letter I suspect he is beginning to miss his travels with Geralt. But anyways, that life was getting too quiet, so I returned to Vergen, rounded up some lads and we’ve taken on a few honorable contracts here and there. Can’t say how long we’ll make camp in Mahakam… still have to have permission to so much as piss around here.”

Iorveth lifted the one visible brow. “Honorable contracts? Mercenary work?”

With a shake of his head, Zoltan nudged the Ciaran jovially. “Nothing that would cause my grandmother to come back from her grave and take a belt to me. No, like I said, this is _honorable_ work. You know, chasing bandits out of mines, guarding bank transfers. Caught a twisted serial killer in Vengerberg. Real nasty fellow that had a menagerie of monsters Geralt would have slain.”

Ciaran leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes alright with interest. “Why did he have monsters?”

“Ah!” Zoltan rubbed his hands together. “That was what he did with the bodies. Fed them. Thankfully I’d picked up a thing or two from our witcher friend and knew which bombs would take out the blighters.”

“You aiming to put Gwynbleidd out of a job?” Iorveth asked.

Zoltan shrugged. “Wasn’t as difficult as he’s always complaining about. Silver for this steel for that, drink some potions, bah! A handful of dancing stars obliterated those ghouls.”

Iorveth knew by the twinkle in the dwarf’s eyes that he was merely having a laugh. “Cheers to witcher Zoltan!” He lifted his tankard of ale and after Ciaran and Zoltan both tapped theirs against it, finished off its contents. The alcohol had taken a slight edge off, but he didn’t have the energy to drink himself under the tables this night, so he stood and gathered his belongings, Ciaran following suit.

“Turning in so soon elf? I know you’re not that old are ye?” Zoltan protested with a waspish frown.

“I will see you after I’ve washed off the stench of travel and slept off the ache of sleeping on Mahakam rock.”

“Alright, alright, more for the rest of us made of sterner stuff. We’ll speak on the morrow… got a job I could use a couple of elves’ for.”

Iorveth didn’t reply as he helped himself to one of the empty tavern rooms, nodding as Ciaran took the next one down and disappeared inside. There weren’t many places where Iorveth felt he could leave his belongings and weapons out of sight, but Vergen was as close to a respectable place as he was welcome in.

So, he stripped down to his shirt, leggings, and boots, and along with a single dagger and fresh clothing, made his way down to the bath house behind the tavern.

Steam lingered heavy in the air when he stepped inside and found a place to disrobe completely before lowering himself into the deep waters of the bath. Several dwarfs occupied the bath, some with curious glances but minded their own business of washing their beards and talking finances.

The hot waters did wonders on his tense muscles and weeks of travel, hunger, frustration, and hopelessness drifted away. Soon, he took off his cap, flung it onto his pile of clothes and dunked his head underwater, scrubbing soap onto his scalped. Long after the suds had floated away, he held himself underwater, holding his breath until his lungs burned.

When the need for oxygen became too great, he finally emerged from the water and took in a deep lungful of damp air.

“I wondered where you went.” Ciaran said, drawing his gaze to find him wading through the waters, his hair already shiny and clean.

Without reply Iorveth leaned his head back against the side and closed his eye, reluctant to leave the soothing water.

“What do you think of Chivay’s offer of work?” Ciaran asked, his voice nearby.

“We could use the coin. One job and then we continue north.”

A long silence drifted between them before Ciaran spoke again.

“Why only one? Why not stay here for a time?”

Iorveth didn’t open his eye but he lowered his voice. “There is handsome coin for our heads. Those seeking to claim it will find their way here before long. And our allies would suffer for it. Brouver Hoog, the Elder here, is quietly sympathetic to our plight but he will not suffer our presence here for long.”

A long sigh whispered through the air.

“Maybe this job will pay enough for a ship to sail across the ocean.”

Iorveth allowed his mind to wander. “And the idyllic land where food is plentiful, _dh’oine_ have never touched it, and _beanna_ never leave the bed, will magically appear and make me its _ealia_.”

“Commander, from my experience, if the _beanna_ is so ready to leave your bed then you’ve done something gravely wrong.”

Without looking, Iorveth splashed water at Ciaran, earning a spluttery laugh.

* * *

* * *

The Quiet Woods…

The sun was well and truly set, but instinct told Jasmine that there could be no rest for her just yet. The Quiet Woods was familiar to her, but she knew they held dangers beyond a couple of bandits and that she was far better off camping at the watch tower.

However, there was a problem with that plan, as the tracks were in the opposite direction of the tower, and it was now much too dark to see the prints. There was another way… but it would be exhausting.

Jasmine leaned against a tree and used the corner of her cloak to wipe her brow, her hair falling loose of the braid and tangling in the bark of the tree. The air was cool, but the lack of breeze made her feel stagnant and sweaty and she felt the itch of a few mosquitos that lingered from summer. And once she would have thought she was in decent strength of body since she walked up and down stairs in the castle all day… but it was clearly evident in the weariness of her muscles and shortness of breath that too much time had passed since her last hiking adventure.

But she had a quest, a purpose, and she would do her best and make the most of it for once she returned to Elevoss, Atticus was certain to never let her out again.

So, with a deep breath she straightened from the tree, closed her eyes… and opened her mind.

She was not a sorceress or someone with some legendary connection to chaos, if she had been, she might have actually been granted the freedom to choose her path… but she did have a slight ability when it came to magic.

Able to feel its touch and understand its purpose, something that was quite handy when treasure hunting, and it would be useful now that she could no longer track Dhoken’s belongings the traditional way. It was lucky that there happened to be something imbued with magic to follow…

The downfall was that using such an ability greatly exhausted her and was responsible for many days spent passed out on the forest floor, awakening with an endless headache and dehydrated.

When she searched out for the hint magic there was no sparkly trail to follow or beacon to mark its location, but a feeling. A certainty that there was something touched by chaos within grasp and the closer she got to it, the more certain she felt.

The sword was close, but she had a way to go yet. Which meant managing her strength as well as watching for the bandits that had apparently infested her forest.

It was odd that they hadn’t simply murdered Dhoken and taken his wagon whole. This seemed calculated. But how or why, she didn’t have enough information to make an informed hypothesis.

As she walked, her eyelids grew heavy and her pace faltered, but she couldn’t stop now. She was nearly there. And then she had to observe, formulate a plan to steal back the objective, and find her way to the tower.

Four tasks… but she would only succeed in one.

Through the trees, a torch burned. Shadows hovered around a set of ruins so old that their purpose was only remembered by ghosts. How many stood guard, Jasmine couldn’t say, as a flash of pain radiated hotly through her skull and darkness dragged her down before her body hit the ground.

* * *

* * *

Despite the comfort of the bed- if a mattress of old straw could be considered a comfort- Iorveth was the first to leave the room and help himself to pork left over from the night before and drank deeply of cold water from the well.

A few lingering patrons, one of which was sleeping heavily on the ample bosom of a tavern wench, snored from their beds of benches and beneath tables. He suspected that it wouldn’t be long before one of the cleaning misses would be taking a broom to them.

With that in mind he snagged a chair from where it lay on its side, carried it to the quietest corner available and spent the remaining time sharpening one of the random tavern knives that was duller than a block of wood.

Before long the passed out drunks were awoken and kicked out on their asses, Ciaran joined him looking well rested and alert with a half eaten mutton pie in his hand which he glared at Zoltan for sticking his fork in uninvited once the dwarf made his appearance.

“Now then, where’s your manners? Sharing is the polite thing to do.” Zoltan muttered.

“I’d had my eye on this pie since last night! Get your own.” Ciaran snapped but didn’t hold the plate out of reach as Zoltan ignored him and helped himself.

Iorveth ignored them as he finished wiping off the knife and then used it to clean his fingernails, his gloves laid across his thigh.

“Well you two look rested. Sleeping under a roof has done you well… and the use of soap too if my nose is telling the truth of it.”

A quiet hum was all Iorveth replied with. He was not one for small talk, being more action oriented as he was, but he had known Zoltan for many years now and knew the dwarf would get around to their purpose when he was ready.

Ciaran however had no such patience. “What is this job you said to have need of us for.”

As predicted, Zoltan waved him off. “Business talk has no place so early in the morning, particularly before I’ve finished my meal.”

“Chivay.” Iorveth said with a hint of threat.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your prick in a knot. Got a few nests of nekkers down in one of the mines. They keep makin a meal out of the miners… the lads and I-” Zoltan paused to take a great bite out of a roll, “we’ll take care of the ranged if you two would get close and personal with the blighters.”

“Why wouldn’t we,” Iorveth tilted his head toward Ciaran, his gaze never leaving the slowly eating dwarf, “do the ranged while you prove that those axes aren’t just for show?”

Zoltan waggled his eyebrows. “You have longer arms.”

Ciaran huffed a laugh. “That we do.”

“So, what do you say boys? Want to play witcher with us for a fair price?”

Truthfully, heading down into a dark, endless mine filled with bone gnawing monsters was the last thing Iorveth wished to do, and he told Zoltan just that.

“But…” Zoltan said with that knowing grin of his.

Iorveth sighed and stabbed the tavern knife into the wood of the wall above his head where it stayed firmly in place. “You know me well Chivay. I can never say no do that charming face of yours.”

Zoltan hopped from his chair with vigor. “Aye, I’ll take mine over your mangled mug any day. Alright lads, sharpen your needles, we meet at the Dagger mine in a quarter.”

Slowly, Iorveth tilted his head side to side, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. A small thrill of anticipation shot down his spine as the thought of doing a bit of exercise was beginning to grow on him. And if the light in Ciaran’s eyes were to indicate anything, he was looking forward to it as well.

* * *

* * *


	3. Find the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIII! Omg was November a year or what??? Hope everyone is well and thank you for reading. Let me know what you think about the beginnings of our little adventure.  
> There is some violence in this chapter as things get a bit messy.

* * *

* * *

Unknown Ruins…

First came the sharp stabbing pain. Then an orange glow that stung still closed eyes. An ache that spread across shoulders and down the spine. The throb of legs that were just shy of numb from lack of use.

Jasmine had fallen out of the dreamless darkness to find that she was well and truly bound, her arms pulled tight behind her back with chaffing ropes, head tilted back loosely. 

Having read plenty of adventure novels, she knew the protagonist, when waking from situations just as hers, must always take the time to subtly study her surroundings and her captors before making her wakefulness known- hopefully with her escape certain.

Slowly and fighting a pained wince, Jasmine opened her eyes to the barest of slits. With the angle of her head, she couldn’t make out much beyond the orange firelight glowing brightly on stone. 

Cut stone, aged and laced with roots.

The crackle of fire, the only sound.

Closing her eyes and trying to keep her breathing even, Jasmine pieced together the events.

She tracked the bandits to the elven ruins. In her increasing exhaustion, she became sloppy, and one of the assholes attacked her from behind, trussing her up to a chair. She was unable to tell how much time had passed, with her use of chaos and the wound to her head, it could have been days for all she knew.

Jasmine took careful stock of her body, her chapped lips and painfully dry throat, aching body and it felt like blood had tried down the back of her neck, hunger ate at her guts, and she had the pressing need to relieve herself… at least she was still clothed.

“You can cease pretending to be asleep lass. I know you’re awake.” A thick voice spoke from behind her, dwarven in accent.

Fear truly settled in the pit of her stomach, chasing the hunger away as the reality of her situation became ever more clear to her. 

Her freedom, her safety, her _life_ was well and truly at risk.

Forcing herself to feel brave, Jasmine slowly straightened her head, the pained muscles crying out for her to stop. But it was a bitter relief to move them and the ache didn’t last long as she tilted her head from side to side and cracked open her eyes as much as the pain behind them would allow.

With her stiff movements, she couldn’t make out the person behind her.

Her first attempt to speak failed, with her dry throat and mouth bringing her into a pained coughing fit, tears stinging her eyes as they reacted to the pained burning the coughing caused in her lungs.

“Now, now, none of that, here- take a drink.”

Naïvely, Jasmine didn’t care if her captor was poisoning her, and she tried to drink greedily of the mug that was pressed to her lips, only to be brought back into a coughing fit when the stench and burn of vodka hit her senses.

A laugh echoed through the ruin room. “I’m sorry lass, I couldna resist. Gets em every time. Here, water.” 

Cutting her gaze to the side, her breaths coming in heavy, she glared at the elderly dwarven woman. A short, iron grey beard poked from her chin, matching the double braids that fell over stout, leather clad shoulders. The lined face was open though mischief shined in wide grey eyes.

“Honest. It’s water this time.”

Jasmine wanted to stubbornly refuse, but her need was overpowering. Tentatively she studied the water skin, but not having paid attention to the last one, was unable to determine if it were the same. Slowly, and then once the first touch of cold water spread across her tongue, confirming that it was safe- that she had indeed not been tricked once more- gulped greedily in her need to sooth the dry pain.

The water settled heavily in her otherwise empty stomach, but she could not care when she at last pulled back and sighed in relief.

“There, told ya.”

Slowly, still mindful of the aches in her body, Jasmine tilted her head back and watched the dwarf move into view. 

“Migh-” Jasmine paused to clear her throat. “Might I know whom attempted to poison me and why am I tied up after being hit in the head? Where are the others? How long was I out?”

She was answered with a chuckle. “Lots of questions out of you, but the fancy ones always have lots of questions.”

Closing her eyes in frustration, Jasmine realized that she’d forgotten to disguise herself better. But it couldn’t be helped now, she could only hope the woman didn’t plan to use that bit of information against her. She wasn’t confident in that, however.

“They call me Folra, you’re tied up because you’re our guest, everyone else is seeing to their business- its none of yours, and a good half day.” Folra pulled her stool around to sit before Jasmine, an overly kind smile stretched her lips- not even near matching the glint in her eyes. “Now... my turn.”

* * *

* * *

Mines of Mahakam…

Idly, Iorveth adjusted a bracer, eyeing the poorly constructed wooden door that guarded the mineshaft they would be delving into once Zoltan and his company joined him and Ciaran.

“How many do you suppose we’ll be faced with down there?” Ciaran asked, pacing with arms crossed and watchful eyes.

His friend was a confident warrior, they had shared many battles together over the years and knew the other had skill and bravery to face down any foe. But he was wise to be leery of the monsters they would soon face.

“If memory serves me correctly, anywhere from twenty to fifty head. They are small and a blade will cut them down easily… but their strength lies in their numbers. They won’t sit around and take us one on one, lined up like school children. They’ll swarm us, go for our legs, then our guts, and then our throats.”

“Ya got that one right!” Zoltan called out as he joined them at the entrance. “While you two swing those bits of metal you call swords at them, we’ll pick off the outer lot. Be back in time for supper. Now then-” Zoltan swung a hand to the small gathering of dwarven men. “Boys, these are the lads, lads these are the boys. Now shall we?”

Ciaran nodded to the others but leaned close to Iorveth. “Why are we the ‘boys’ and them the ‘lads’? Why not the other way?”

Iorveth only shook his head and picked up an unlit torch from a barrel, Ciaran and several ‘lads’ following suit. Zoltan used the already lit lantern he’d brought with them to light the torches. 

The air inside the dark tunnel was stale, wet, but warm. Their many torches held the shadows back and every few paces, a new torch was lit and left in a wall scone. Movement was limited for the two Aen Seidhe as it was undoubtably apparent that the mine had been dug by those of much shorter stature.

More than once Ciaran had muttered a curse after failing to duck beneath a support beam, drawing several rounds of laughter and teasing remarks from their companions. 

Iorveth himself nearly found himself taken out by an ore cart rolling into his path, forcing him to choose between dodging around the object or rolling over it, needless to say, the trek into the tunnels was dangerous for the two taller non humans.

“How long are you boys available for joining my little company?” Zoltan asked halfway into the journey.

“How long will Hoog suffer a couple of Squirrels on his mountains- or in his tunnels at that?” Iorveth asked instead rather than tie himself down with an answer.

Zoltan chuckled from behind him. “So long as you don’t go bragging about all the humans you’ve snuffed out, and don’t cause a ruckus, he’ll look the other way for a time.”

A light snort came from Ciaran. “Trouble finds us whether we keep our blades sheathed or not.”

“Aye, so might as well have merrymaking time of it eh?”

“Quite.” Iorveth ordered quite suddenly, signaling with a raised closed fist. The company’s training and experience showed through as immediately everyone became dead silent and still, watchful as Iorveth slowly took a step forward.

The only sound to be heard came from the drip of water from the ceiling, the rustle of torches as wind from air shafts gently breezed through.

And then one by one, each set of ears picked up the odd scratches coming from the darkness beyond Iorveth’s torchlight.

Then a snarl.

“Chamber’s just ahead, we should face them there.” Zoltan said, his voice just barely above the sound of the torches.

“Aye… Ciaran, with me.” Iorveth said, never taking his gaze from the darkness.

Another snarl echoed through the darkness, joined by several more, the sound sending a thrill up Iorveth’s spine.

* * *

* * *

Unknown Ruins…

Jasmine was simultaneously stiff and weak from fury. 

Fury at the trouble she found herself in unwittingly, fury at the dwarf holding an arrow, its steel tip glowing red hot inches from her face, and fury at herself for how quickly she broke.

Not that she had any secrets or information worth suffering torture over, but deep inside, she’d always imagined herself to be the solid sort, facing down wicked torturers with an iron will.

But no… she’d given up every detail Folra had demanded the moment her skin felt the unbearable heat below her eye, unwilling to test the others bluff and pay the price with disfigurement with foolish ideals and pride.

She was hardly a heroine it seemed.

As for Folra, she was pleasantly satisfied with Jasmine’s weakness.

“Ah… so you’re Lady Jasmine of Elevoss, from a castle high in the mountains, on a little adventure to claim your friend’s belongings.” Folra said, setting the arrow aside and taking her seat back. “Very noble if not pathetic. A fancy life isn’t enough so here ya are… Tsk.”

A commotion came from a partially collapsed doorway, and in walked six elves, two female and four males- one of which had her sword belted around their waist, two male dwarfs, and a female halfling. Fear mixed with anger, and Jasmine had to force herself to continue to watch the company, particularly the elves.

Some dropped freshly skinned animal carcasses into a pot near the fire, some dropped small bags of what must be their days loot, onto a pile of similar junk near a jumble of stumps and stools the lot of them likely used to sit on while sorting their prizes. Her own travel bag was lying in the dirt, already empty of its contents. A corner of a chest stuck out from beneath the pile, and Jasmine wondered if that was her own prize… she didn’t have the energy to try and find out with magic.

The elves were talking amongst themselves in a language that she could almost understand, the dwarves and halfling didn’t say much but seemed to know what was being said, Folra joining them.

And when each one took turns eyeing her before speaking again, she knew that she was the topic. 

Quickly, she took stock of their appearances and weapons, the mismatched pieces of armor, weapons that looked aged though taken care of, the squirrel tails dangling from the ends of a bow or belt buckle…

Panic replaced the fear, but the anger nearly had her baring her teeth.

She could stomach sharing blood with a race that tried to murder her and everyone she loved… but the guerilla fighters were a different race all together.

“You’re Scoia’tael.” Jasmine said coldly, her glare letting them know just what she thought of the criminals. “Murderers. Thieves.”

Their hatred for her shone brightly in their gazes as ten sets of eyes locked on her. One, possibly the group’s leader stepped forward.

Male, threatening in stature though obviously malnourished, and a wicked looking sword held comfortably in his grip. Once in reach of her, he raised the blade grazing the skin at the base of her throat, causing fear to course through her veins and press against the back of the chair. 

Jasmine tore her gaze from the dull steel gleam of the sword, to bright brown eyes at the sound of his voice. “How very observant of you for we are indeed Scoia’tael. Call us murderers and thieves if you wish but know this dh’oine. You only exist because of the blood staining your ancestors, a stain that covers your hands just as it covers ours.”

Recognizing that he held all of the power at the moment, Jasmine forced herself to no provoke him further. It was obvious that he and the others despised her just as much as she them. There was no point in bringing up all the ways his kind had hurt her, for no doubt he would find them justified in some form or fashion.

“Alright. You’re Scoia’tael, I’m a human at your mercy.” Jasmine bit out through clenched jaw, the captor flashing a grin of delight at the display of what such words cost her.

“That should be quite obvious to even the most dimwitted of dh’iones.” Chuckles surrounded her. “Now, the question is what do we do with the local princess?” The point of the sword deftly traced up her throat to rest just behind her ear, the wielder tilting his head as he studied her.

Suggestions were shouted gleefully from the others, each one more than crude and made her stomach roll with fear. “Rough her up and send her back to the duke in pieces!”

“I want her boots, look about my size.”

“I say ransom the wench.”

“Aye but after-”

“Enough, all of you.” The elf with the sword snapped, never taking his gaze from her. “We’ve remained in these woods undetected for months, and we did that by being smart. More so than them. And now that she’s sniffed us out, we find ourselves with a problem.” He finally turned away, taking the sword with him.

Jasmine couldn’t repress the enormous shudder of relief to have the cold steel removed from her skin.

Folra strolled to her side and patted her head with a wicked smirk. “Our lass here is too high profile. She will be missed, and her brother’s men will sweep the land for her no matter if we kill her and dump her body, ransomed her, or send her back in a giftwrapped box.”

“Exactly. Folra, knock her out. We have much to discuss.”

Jasmine blinked owlishly as she suddenly understood the command, but she had little time to stutter out a “No, wait I-” before Folra, her grin wide and menacing, struck her in the temple with the hilt of an axe.

The blow didn’t knock her out as intended, but the pain splintering through her head and down her spine was unbearable, leaving her slack jawed as she concentrated on breathing through the pain.

The second blow, she didn’t even see coming.

* * *

* * *

Mines of Mahakam…

“Eight! You’re lagging behind boyos!” Zoltan cried out over the sound of monster snarls, claws of rocky surfaces, crossbows firing and swords striking bone.

Iorveth shot a quick glare at the dwarf, barely visible in the remaining torch light. “You have the better view!” So far, the nest had only been about twenty or so of the monsters, with six kills done by himself, eight apparently by Zoltan with the other six shared with the remainder of their group.

Another bolt struck a newly arrived nekker in the throat, its howling screeches shooting around the cavernous room. “All I hear is excuses from you!”

Hearing the scrape of claws behind him, Iorveth whirled, instinctively slashing downward, satisfaction bringing a grin to his lips as he felt flesh and bone give way to his sword.

Realizing it had been some time since he’d heard from Ciaran, he swept his gaze across the poorly lit chamber, searching the area for his friend. He found him near the opening of a tunnel, holding down the body of a dead nekker with his foot while pulling his sword from the monster’s chest. 

They shared a nod, but Iorveth’s attention was quickly drawn to the arrival of a nekker from the darkness behind Ciaran. Before he could shout a warning, the monster swiped its claws out, slicing through Ciaran’s calf bringing the other Aen Seidhe to a knee with a cry of pain.

As he sprinted across the room, Iorveth caught sight of several bodies pouring from a ledge high in the room, ignoring the rickety ladder as the dropped behind Zoltan and the others.

“They’re coming from above Zoltan!” Iorveth shouted before diving into the growing hoard descending on Ciaran, quickly taking out the one that had maimed his friend. Silently, holding back the next wave, he held his free hand down to Ciaran, grasped his arm and helped him stand.

“ _Maieth_.” Ciaran muttered once he was back on his feet. 

Iorveth could feel the slight tremor running through Ciaran’s arm, but he bore through the pain and nodded once he was able to do his part once more.

Together they cut through the small hoard, no longer able to count on Zoltan’s high ground support. And for it, Iorveth felt more than one claw or fang cut his skin. 

He no longer heard the voices of Zoltan and his crew but didn’t have the time to spare a glance to check on them as they were flanked from a tunnel they had thought collapsed. Taking not three steps in their direction, he stumbled forward as a weight landed on his back, sharp claws cutting through his armor and clothing, piercing his skin and muscle with a burning agony that he shoved into a banded box and locked away.

He didn’t have time to hiss in pain and worry about the wounds. He didn’t even have the time to worry about the nekker climbing his back as he was more concerned with the three sprinting towards him, their gangly arms outstretched, their beady eyes glinting in the torchlight focused on his stomach.

The nekker on his back lifted its head but before it could sink its teeth into his shoulder, something powerful struck them both sending Iorveth toward the oncoming hoard a step. He felt the creature go slack, but it didn’t fall, and it took Iorveth a moment to realize why.

A quick glance down, a bolt head stuck out from his shoulder dripping dark red blood.

But he didn’t have time to worry about that.

Locking away another wave of pain, he focused on his prey, lifted his sword with his arms straining against the impediment of the bolt and extra weight of the monster, and prepared to kill them all.

* * *

* * *

Unknown Ruins…

The scene Jasmine woke up to was completely different as she came around the second time. She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was slowly waking, pulling herself out of the emptiness that had left her exhausted.

Her head ached terribly, and she was nearly thankful for the numbness of her arms and legs, certain that they would be unbearable to move should they had feeling. 

Blinking eyes that refused to focus, it took a moment to realize that the reason her eyelashes pulled on her left eye was because of dry blood covering that side of her face.

The band of Scoia’tael finally sharpened into focus despite the pain.

Jasmine licked her dry, cracked lips, her stomach rolling with revulsion at the taste of blood on them, but the scent of meat cooking over the fire the band sat before quickly soothed the pains and reminded her that she had not eaten for quite some time now.

One of the elves had a worn lute across their lap, strumming an elegant tune that, should the instrument had been of better quality, she was certain would have been entrancing.

The rest of the group passed around jugs of what was sure to be wine, bowls of food that she gazed at longingly and recognized as her own along with the game they’d dragged in, and laughed at whatever was said by whomever was telling a tale at the time.

If not for the violence she’d endured, as an outsider looking in, she would have thought them just a group of close friends enjoying an evening together. And the part of her that yearned for that sort of friendship nearly had her forgetting just where she was and who they were.

They might seem like a group of merry friends, but she knew differently. Was reminded of just how much danger she was in by the sight of their weapons in ready reach. Of the malice in the glances they sent her way once they realized that she was awake and watching them.

Through the fog clouding her memory, she recalled that just before Folra knocked her out, they were discussing what to do with her. Whether to kill her or ransom her and then deal with the fallout either choice would bring down on them.

Sighing deeply, Jasmine watched the supposed leader. The only one to not laugh and partake in the merriment as he seemed to be watching the shadows if one of the collapsed doorways.

Shifting slightly, she wondered if it would be any use to swear to not reveal them, to lie to her brother that she’d gotten into trouble all on her own… and would she honor her word if they believed her.

Jasmine didn’t know.

She wanted desperately to get free, to flee this place and return with an army to burn it to the ground. But… that was the anger and pain driving her. The hatred of watching one of _them_ murder her parents before trying to do the same to her and Theo. The ache of a broken heart. A mountain of shame at being used. And a jealousy that made it difficult to swallow the knot forming in her throat.

But such emotions were exhausting, and she needed to use what strength she had on just surviving this nightmare. If that meant swearing her life and that of everyone she loved that she would remain silent, then she would, and she would honor that bond.

Now, she had to figure how to broach the deal.

The leader quite unexpectedly turned his gaze from the shadows to rest on her, meeting hers steadily and giving nothing away. She supposed he was handsome, elves tended to be more than average in the looks department. But his blonde hair was dirty and fell in tangled waves to his shoulders, dark face paint circled his eyes, blending with his dark brown eyes.

Gaunt faced with an inscrutable expression, his natural elven beauty was shrouded by a no doubt difficult life of violence and brought memories she struggled every day to keep locked away.

But perhaps he could be reasoned with, after all, she wasn’t dead yet.

Twisting her expression into one she hoped conveyed that she was ready to talk, Jasmine lifted her chin slightly, and then waited, listening to the sounds around her. 

He must have read her correctly for he stood, made a deliberate show of strapping his sword back around his hips, before stepping away from his companions with a signal that seemed to mean for them to continue their meal.

“Pleasant dreams?” He asked mockingly.

Jasmine’s voice was painfully cracked when she finally spoke. “My dreams are many, but I won’t bore you with them. What did you and your merry band of marauders decide?” 

She was startled and unsettled by the amusement that sparkled in his dark eyes. “You are either astoundingly dull witted as you try to provoke me, or brave to a fault.”

“Astoundingly dull witted if it will get this rope off me.”

He lifted his brows in mocking surprise. “But not brave? How disappointing.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why disappointing?”

A humorless smile curled his lips. “If you cannot convince me that you are a woman of deeply felt honor, you will need that faultless bravery for what we have in store for you.”

Hope sprang to life within her, causing her to straighten her spine and remind herself and him that she was a lady, one of honor at that.

Opening her mouth and drawing a deep breath to steady her so that she might begin to testify on her merit, Jasmine never spoke.

A feeling swept over her, similar to when she was using the speck of magic within her to find magical objects. But rather than the excitement of finding some hidden treasure, she felt a heavy blanket of dread settling over her.

Her capture noticed the change in her demeaner, the way her body suddenly tensed, and her eyes darted around the room. 

“What? What is it?” He adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, his gaze following hers to the collapsed doorway.

Jasmine swallowed nervously. “Something's here, I can feel it.”

“Nonsense, we’ve been here for weeks and have explored the ruins thoroughly.” The elf snapped over his shoulder, moving as if he were going to return to the fire.

Panic sent Jasmine struggling against her bonds, her senses screaming at her that she was in danger, that they were all in terrible danger.

“No! Please you have to untie me!” She cried after him, drawing every stare in the room.

Silence mingled with her deep, erratic breathing before the elf looked over his shoulder. “If this is how you think to convince me, you are mistaken.”

But Jasmine stared at the rubble obsessively, firm in her belief that her barely useful power was attuned to some magical danger, something predatory and hungry.

However, the longer the group sat in silence, watchful just in case she were being honest, with nothing so much as a mouse stirring the peace, the more she began to wonder if her mind was playing a cruel joke on her.

Eventually the music started up once more, the chatter and laughter were no doubt at her expense, but Jasmine couldn’t relax, no matter how she tried. The feeling refused to ease; it ate away at her already weakened strength just as if she were using it on purpose while treasure hunting.

The music and laughter continued, food and wine were passed around, and someone moved to the pile of stolen goods and dug out a small leather sack which she eventually saw held dice and cards.

All was peaceful in the ruins, save for her, and the leader. As much as he tried to deny her sincerity, it appeared that even he was uncomfortable as he sat stiffly amongst his people and watched the shadows.

‘He should be holding his sword.’ Jasmine thought suddenly.

Because a moment later when the world came crashing down, none of them were prepared.

* * *

* * *

Mines of Mahakam…

The stench was stifling, a thick mixture of blood, sweat, and monster innards. The air sat heavily in his lungs, and he had to continually wipe blood out of his one remaining eye in order to see properly.

“Any one left alive?” Zoltan called out, pain and exhaustion coloring the voice coming from the encroaching darkness.

A round of ‘ayes’ sounded around the room, Iorveth’s included and he sighed in relief when he picked out Ciaran’s from the dwarven accents.

“Thalt didn’t make it.” Someone said with sadness.

“Neither did Aggar.”

Zoltan could be heard cursing before letting out a long sigh. “Alright lads, lets gather our fallen and get the thrice damned hell out of this stinkin pit.”

Iorveth kicked a nekker body from laying atop a still burning torch and searched out Ciaran, nodding as he found him limping heavily toward him from the darkness and taking the torch from him wordlessly. Holding the torch aloft he took in the grisly state of the room with a sneer of distance.

A whistle came from behind him and a moment later Zoltan joined his side. “Nasty little colony we just took out.”

“Nothing little about this.” He snapped back before pulling out a couple on incendiaries from a pouch on his belt.

“Aye well… you planning to take that one as a souvenir?”

Iorveth finally remembered the bolt sticking through his shoulder and the monster still pinned to his back because of it. “Fuck. Better pull it out now.” He ground out, struggling to keep the pain boxed away.

“Well, to your knees with ya. Lads, hold him steady.”

Easing painfully to his knees, Iorveth felt several sturdy pairs of hands grasp his shoulders and back, holding him firmly. Zoltan met his gaze with sincere apologies shining in his beady eyes. But when Iorveth nodded once, signaling to get it over with, his long time friend didn’t hesitate to firmly grasp the bolt and pull it out in one swift motion.

The weight of the monster slid off, slapping the ground behind him wetly as the force of the pain sent Iorveth doubling over and fighting back the thick void that threatened to take him under.

He didn’t feel Zoltan wrapping the double sided wound- moving his arms this way and that as he did so, and he couldn’t recall the fire set to the bodies of the monsters or the long climb out of the mines, but the first draw of fresh air, the scent of freshly turned dirt and chimney smoke, the touch of sunlight on his face warming him would stay with him for some time.

It was a habit of his whenever he found himself clawing up the endless cliff of survival… find the clean air, the scents of life. Warmth spreading across his skin. It was a signal of his evading death once more, and this time was no different.

The company was a bloody mess as they stumbled into the tavern, ignoring the shrieks and swears of the tavern workers preparing for the evening crush.

Zoltan waved his hand against one of the misses shaking a cleaning cloth at them and demanding that they leave that instant. “Oh aye, aye woman we shall. We’ll be headin up to the room but we’re in dire need of a sawbones. Send for one and any food and water ye’v got prepared up to my room. And we need a croaker for Aggar and Thalt. C’mon laddies, up ye go, we’re not done with the adventure yet.”

“Ciaran and I will see to ourselves.” Iorveth said, finding a new wind of strength and beginning the haul himself up the stairs.

“Oh aye, as you say. Once everyone is patched up, my lads laid to rest, I’ll collect our dues and dish out your share.”

Iorveth waved him away absently, hissing at the sharp pain that shot through his spine at the unnecessary movement, then enduring it as he began pulling off the bandage around his shoulder, his armor, weapons, and undershirt as he went. Ciaran heavily limped up the stairs after him, his breathing coming in strained gasps.

The hallway to his room seemed to never end but once they were inside, they both collapsed, Iorveth face down on his bed in nothing but his trousers and boots, Ciaran sprawled in the only chair.

“That… was damned ridiculous.” Ciaran finally said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Terrible about the two slain lads but… fuck. No more monster contracts.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

* * *

Unknown Ruins…

The creature that burst through the collapsed doorway was unlike anything Jasmine had ever seen, its appearance through the shower of rock and dust silencing any screams dead in her dry throat.

Towering over even the tallest elf scrambling for their sword, red and black mottled skin stretched tightly over thick muscles, a strangely shaped bulbous head that held blood red eyes, an upturned snout and a maw of sharp teeth open in the roar of a predator.

The startled Scoia’tael scrambled to their feet, some weaving unsteadily from the overindulgence of stale wine, but each raising weapons.

“Somebody untie me for fucks sake.” Jasmine whispered, wanting to shout at the useless lot of them but unwilling to draw the monster’s attention. After all, trussed up as she was, she was easy prey. She pulled at her bonds, the raw skin breaking and a moment later she felt blood drip down over her clenched fists.

Her plea went unheard as the monster quieted a moment and sniffed the air before turning its attention on her. Before it could make a meal of her, someone released an arrow.

It expertly hit its mark but was ineffective as the monsters thick skin and muscles repelled the weapon. It did however draw the attention away from her and as another roar erupted from the monster, it charged the small band.

They scattered in every direction, but one dwarf wasn’t fast enough.

A scream finally tore from Jasmines chest as hot blood sprayed over her thighs, soaking into her leggings, and pooling down in her boots. As much as she wished she could, screamed at herself to do so, she couldn’t look away as the monster tossed the mangled halves of the body to the ground before swiping with its long arms at the next closest being.

The elf under attack charged with a furious yell, slashing with his sword, but his battle cry ended in a whimper as his skull was crushed against the wall from a mighty blow.

The sight of his hands contracting uselessly, his body twitching limply before being gutted brutally was seared into her mind.

After that, she lost track of the Scoia’tael in a haze as she forgot how to breathe. Some were ripped apart, some escaped, and some were still standing their ground, the leader included.

None of them had listened to her plea to let her go so that she might have a chance of survival.

When something nudged her foot, Jasmine chanced a look, another scream tore through her at the frozen in terror face of Folra stared up at her, bodyless.

Somehow through the hellish nightmare, it registered in her mind that Folra’s axe was just out of her reach. 

A small shred of hope blossomed in her chest and without thinking twice she heaved her body back and forth until the chair she was bound to tilted and finally fell.

The blow of her head striking the ground caused white light to blind her, but it distracted her from the pain in her shoulder from the rough landing. 

With adrenalin and hope giving her strength, Jasmine managed to maneuver with limited movement until her blindly searching fingers brushed the wooden handle.

It was a challenge, one she hoped to never repeat, awkwardly trying to cut through the rope. More than once the axe blade nicked the already ripped skin of her wrists, but her fight for survival was greater than any pain she could worry about at that moment.

Once her hands were finally free, she choked back sobs of relief as she did the same with her feet. 

Nothing, not the aching limbs coming back to life with fiery pain, not the alternating darkness and blinding light that threatened to overtake her, and not the sickness that churned in her throat at the sight of the carnage spread across the room, could prevent her from fleeing that room.

Stumbling over body parts and slipping in pools of blood, Jasmine scrambled for the exit until a hand grasped her ankle stopping her for a heartbeat.

She looked down to find the bands leader coming to his knees, holding a hand to a bloody tear in the side of his neck.

Desperately she kicked his hand loose and ran for the door, skidding to a stop at the sight of the little chest. Without hesitation she grasped the handle and pulled it out of the pile, before snatching up her own bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

The monster roared, drawing her gaze as she backed for the exit. The elf crawling toward her pleaded for her help.

She didn’t want to.

She didn’t want to help the bastard who tied her up, plotted ways to use her for their gain, ignored her warning that something was wrong, and failed to free her when she was proven right.

But… she couldn’t help but remind herself the sort of person she wanted to be. She could hate him and all he stood for, all the wrong done to her, but she didn’t want him to die. Not when she could have prevented it.

So, while the monster was distracted with its latest kill, the last remaining alive besides the two of them, she sprinted forward, grasped him under his arm and used all her strength to help him stand.

He must have been wounded in the legs somewhere for he limped along with her, hissing with each breath. He did his best to guide them out of the ruins and it seemed like an eternity before she felt the cold breeze brushing her cheeks, and even longer to realize that they’d traded the darkness of the ruins for the darkness of the forest at night.

Desperately pulling the elf with her and half dragging what had damned well better be Dhoken’s tools, the object of her quest, she searched for the sky through the trees, searching for the stars and the moon.

_“Eyes to the stars Jazzy. If you can see them, then you haven’t become one yet. You’re still alive.”_

Theo’s words drove her on, words he’d whispered brokenly to her as a child, another time she’d been covered in the cooling blood of another and so certain that the elf had stabbed her, murdered her.

But her brave, gravely injured brother had held her, whispering for her to look to the stars, swearing that they were both still alive. It had kept her from staring at the cooling bodies of their parents, of their murderer still within arm’s reach of her.

How long they dragged themselves through the forest, Jasmine couldn’t say. Long after the violent roars were left behind though she still heard them deep in her mind, stumbling through cold mud and tripping over fallen logs, blood now dry.

A sob of relief escaped her when they at last broke free of the forest, the night sky spreading endlessly before them. The feeling was so potent that she dropped her rescue who landed with a wheeze and fell heavily to her knees.

Jasmine had nothing left in her.

Her strength, bravery, instinct, all gone.

All she had was the starry night sky and the promise that she was alive, so she weakly fell to her back, reaching for the pendent that she wished were still around her neck.

Dhoken’s tools- or what had better be them, and her nearly empty travel bag were forgotten… and so was the elf that was possibly dying. 

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Jasmine has a very big problem, Iorveth runs into an old friend. Life for both takes an unexpected turn.  
> Anyone have any guesses as to the monster that attacked Jasmine? So far I've been given two challenges to incorporate into the story, one of which I have done three times (lets see if anyone picks up on the trend beyond the reader who gave me the idea) and if you have one that you think might be fun, let me know!!   
> Again, sorry for how long this one took to put up.


	4. The Day it Snowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I'm so excited for this chapter so i really hope yall enjoy!

* * *

* * *

Elevoss…

Through shadowed corridors Jasmine darted from room to room, pausing at each one to stop and listen, and once satisfied that she was alone and unseen, darting to the next.

Once she reached the servants stairwell, she slowly descended, the cold of the stone steps seeping through her thin slippers and stockings.

“Jasmine?” A voice called from above her, sending her abandoning the careful sleuthing she’d been practicing, and hurrying down the stairs, thankful that a maid or footman wasn’t currently occupying it, and out into the lower floor of the east wing.

In a rush of fluttering skirts and wild hair streaming behind her, she slipped through the door to her destination and quickly- but silently- closed the door, pausing with her ear pressed to it and listening for any pursuers.

“To what do I owe this delightful visit?” A coarse voice came from behind her, but she waved a hand behind her, signaling from the speaker to keep quiet. Naturally the pain in her arse ignored her. “Are- is the princess perhaps _hiding?_ ”

Jasmine whirled around from the door and stomped a few paces into the room- well medical ward to be precise.

“Yes, I’m hiding.” She hissed at the elf sitting up on the medical ward cot, resting back against the wall with pillows tucked around him. “Having not one but two overbearing brothers as well as a staid old Greta will have any sensible person hiding when they’re on a mission to be sure I’m being coddled enough.”

“That must be the worst. Having a family that worries over you.”

Jasmine glared at the still unnamed elf before striding across the room to one of the many windows in the morning sun filled medical ward. “Yes, well I’m sure if you held off on murdering, thieving, and all general plundering, you could find decent folk who would have worried over you as well. Now shut up, I’m escaping and don’t need your chattering to alert my brothers and servants to where I am.”

She pushed open a window, blinking against the cold that rushed in, before lifting herself up and through the opening, dropping into a row of scratchy bushes. Wincing at the way they caught her hair and poked through the cloth of her dress, she slowly walked through them, watchful for anyone who would call out her presence.

Caution didn’t last but a moment for her as the cold biting at her underdressed feet was enough for her to throw caution to the wind and hurry forward, dashing around winter bare bushes, empty wagons, and archery targets, before at last slipping through one of the side exits of the castle wall.

More than one lingering glance was sent her way, and honestly it could have been for many reasons. A lady stepping about town nearing its first snow fall with clothing more suited to indoors- and fine clothing at that- would draw an eye on any day.

But it was more likely because word of the horrifying ordeal she had survived a couple of days before had spread faster than a barn fire in the heart of a summer drought.

Keeping her gaze straight, though unable to do the same for her shoulders, she hunched against the wind and hurried to Ingvald’s smithy.

The smell of metal and smoke reached her three blocks away from the well run smith, not an altogether pleasant scent but it meant warmth and she was fairly certain it was the last place her brothers would look for her.

She hoped at least.

Ingvald’s was a bit dingy, as to be expected, and the forge was in full use, saturating the sturdy place with heat and soot.

Ingvald’s workers were scattered about, hearty lads of mostly dwarves but a couple of humans as well, hammering at various bits of glowing metal, pouring molten metals into casts, stoking fires, and making repairs to farming equipment.

The lads glanced over at the opening of the door and catching sight of her quickly shutting it behind her and shaking feeling back into her cold arms and legs. The clangs of hammer strikes and good natured chattering ceased as all eyes turned to the lady of the land making an unexpected appearance.

“All right ya foolish ingrates! These ingots won’t smelt themselves!” A stern voice carried over the sound of the various furnaces. All at once the work returned and with more vigor than before, but not without the stray glances and smirking mutters to one another.

Jasmine paid them little heed though she couldn’t help the blush that heated her cheeks, having nothing to do with the heat surrounding her, and focused on Ingvald’s approach.

A smartly dressed dwarf, the sign of a good head and fair hand, hair as flaming red as hers though heavily streaked with grey, stern dark eyes, and a red nose peeking over his matching beard.

“Milady, what a great honor you do me.” Ingvald said with a slight bow and raised bushy red brows.

With a smile, Jasmine returned with a quick little dip that Greta would have deemed a mockery of a curtsy. “Good day sir. I apologize for the unannounced visit and err- interrupting work for a moment.”

“Bah.” Ingvald waved a hand flippantly. “If anything, the occasional sight of a beautiful lass will encourage the lads. Gives them something to work toward someday.” He clapped his hands together soundly before crossing his arms. “Now then, what can I do for ya? Need an order for the castle?”

“No actually, I wanted to see how Dhoken is settling in? Would it be too much of a bother if I visited him?”

Ingvald scowled. “I don’t approve. This isn’t social hour missy.” He growled out sternly. But at the sight of her drooping shoulders, ashen pallor, and tired gaze… “But alright. He’s in the back boxing an order, take him and go.”

Jasmine hesitated. “You won’t dock him any pay, will you? I just wanted to see him for a moment.”

“I heard what happened… and what you did for the lad. I don’t approve, what you did was foolish and dangerous. But you did it for honorable reasons, so no, I won’t punish him.”

Properly scolded as well as proud, Jasmine understood the tone of dismissal and scurried on to the back, keeping her gaze averted from the working men around her as she went.

She found Dhoken expertly nailing a crate shut, plucking a nail from a work belt pocket, and moving around the perimeter with ease. His precious tools that she’d nearly given her life for, hanging from the various loops of his work belt and shining proudly with the care he gave them.

The sight brought a small smile as she took a moment to lean against the door. It wasn’t the adventure she’d gone looking for- no it had been much more terrible and she had yet to get more than a couple hours of sleep without waking in a tangle of blankets as she rushed to get free of her bindings, gasping for breath and her stomach recoiling at the scent of fresh blood.

But she had successfully completed her quest. A real, proper quest. Course now she’d be lucky to ever get to step outside of the city alone again, but for one shining- terrifying moment, she had been- had been-

Jasmine let out a sigh and dismissed her train of thought, alerting the working dwarf to her presence.

“Oy Lady Jasmine!” Dhoken spoke up in surprise. “What brings you here? Not dressed for the occasion I see.”

With a small smile she shrugged. “When you’re on the run from two overbearing brothers and a militant maid, one doesn’t have time to dress for a visit to the smithy.”

“I meant the cold outside, but as you say.” Dhoken said with a grunt as he lifted a heavy box before turning and dusting his hands off. “So, hiding out eh?”

“A bit. I hope you don’t mind but Ingvald said I could steal you away.”

Thick dark brows rose up high, but he happily put away any tools or nails laying about, washed his hands in a nearby bucket, then waved for her to follow him out.

And naturally the talking of the other men paused, their eyes following them with interest until Ingvald took them to task.

Dhoken noticed the pained expression etched into pale face that was in complete opposite of the proud tilt of her chin and firm shoulders.

“Ignore them, they’re good ones but as gossipy as fish wives, the lot of em.” Dhoken muttered as he swung open the door and ushered her back out into the cold. “Bloody fuckin shite its getting cold. And still no snow.” He shook his head before nodding to the tavern down the way. “Fancy a dip into the Unicorn Pub? Doubt his highness will expect you to hide away in there.”

Jasmine hesitated a moment, eyeing the crowd milling around them. “I won’t exactly blend in…” She whispered out of the corner of her mouth thought she was desperately curious about the place

“Hmm… Och here, put this over your head long enough for us to take up residence in a corner and none will even care. Everyone but those of your higher esteem bunch partake of the Unicorn.”

Barely giving the dirty burlap cloth used to cover transports another glance, she did as he suggested. Anything at that point to get moving and out of the cold once more.

With her hair and clothing suitably disguised they hurried along with the rush of people down the street and slipped into the welcome of the Unicorn.

She stood there a moment, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells.

Ingvald had been correct that more than just the lower working class frequented the little tavern with the swinging wooden cutout of a unicorn’s head swinging over the doors out in the cold.

She recognized merchants, saw traders laughing with locals, a few of Theo’s crowd calling out bets and good natured jibes over cards and dice, women with their sleeves rolled up as they mingled a bit with everyone.

The Unicorn itself was surprisingly tidy if not cluttered, decorated with shields and standards of battles past, rusted rakes, menacing bear traps, and even a couple of old weathered oars were pinned to the wall in such an odd assortment of junk that anywhere else would have been just odd.

But here in the Unicorn, everything seemed to fit together.

“Surprisingly busy for so early in the day.” Dhoken muttered. “C’mon then, I see a table free near the fire.”

Barely able to pay attention to where she stepped- so strong was her need to take it all in, while simultaneously hiding her identity from at least Theo’s friends, Jasmine followed him around tables and dodged more than one wildly waving arm- their owners gesturing along with their tales.

Once seated, Dhoken subtly handed over a sweat stained mop cap that one of the women must have left unattended and he must have swept up at some point, and she quickly removed her makeshift cape and stuffed her hair into the cap before sitting back with a sigh, taking in the sight over regular people having a grand time.

At his hearty chuckle, Jasmine pulled her gaze from a couple of pimple faced lads goading the other into talking to a pretty woman serving drinks.

“What is it?” Jasmine asked somewhat breathlessly.

“Oh, to be sure, no one will ever recognize you in that get up. Especially if you keep gawking like a boy who’s just seen his first pair of t-” Dhoken cut himself off with a cough when Jasmine lifted her brows in mock curiosity. “Err I mean his first pair of um- first uh-”

“Please just give up before you bruise your brain.” Jasmine rolled her eyes and continued to watch the people around her. “I’ve walked by this place countless times through my life, but never crossed the line between curiosity and propriety. I wasn’t brave enough I suppose.”

Dhoken scoffed and signaled to a maid with two fingers raised. “Not brave enough. Bah. I’ve known a coward or two milady, and you could hardly call yourself that after what you’ve faced.”

_Blood soaking her pants. Screams echoing through her mind. Body parts strewn through the_ _firelit_ _room._

With a shuddering sigh, Jasmine scrubbed hands across her face before staring at the table. “Entering a pub does seem to pale in comparison.”

“How are you and that other fella holding up?”

She didn’t acknowledge the pewter mug set before her, loosing herself in that night once more for a moment. The spring in her step as she set out to fancy herself an adventurer. The unshakeable fear of waking to find herself prisoner and her future uncertain. Then the unrelentless carnage unfolding before her, so sure that her blood was the next to be spilled.

Freeing herself, making the snap decision to drag the elf out of there as well. Then the endless trek out of the forest and collapsing with stars in her eyes.

Jasmine hadn’t known how long they had laid there, exposed to the freezing temperatures, bodies exhausted, one severely wounded.

She woke to find herself held in Atti’s lap as he carried her on the back of his horse. She’d cracked open her sticky eyes, relieved to see his short red beard, warmth from his cloak, and promptly fell back into a restless sleep.

Not caring for the fallout, so long as she was safe from that monster.

Half a day in bed after being checked over by Greta, bathed extensively, the fallout finally caught up to her. She supposed Atticus and Theo cornering her in her room was a sight more comfortable than Atti’s study.

And she expected the inquisition, owed it to them. As horrible as the memories were, she relived them, telling her tale from start to end. They’d sat on the corners of her bed, silent and watchful as she left nothing out, gaze glued to the lace cuff of her nightgown.

Then Atticus had told her to remain in her room, his excuse being that she required rest and recovery, before leaving without a word. Theo had stayed a moment later to tell her that the elf with her had survived and was currently recovering as well.

Cut to just an hour before and Jasmine had fled her room as no amount of resting, reading, writing, or pacing, could push that night out of her forethoughts.

“As well as any other who barely escaped a horrible death.” Jasmine said at last with a quiet shudder. “The squirrel seems to be recovering fine.”

“Ah yes… I think you mentioned that they were Scoia’tael that had you trussed up. Know what your brother plans to do about them that escaped as well as the one laying about the castle? Drink up by the way.”

Jasmine wrinkled her nose at the sour smell of the beer but took a ginger sip. “No idea. I don’t care either.” She grit out bitterly.

“Not friendly with em then?”

“I’d rather talk about the monster than them if you don’t mind.” She cut him a glare that he answered with a shrug, not bothered by her waspishness.

“As you wish. Any idea what it was?”

Jasmine thought about the taught mottled skin, the claws, the teeth… but before she could come up with an answer, she noticed every voice was snuffed out as the pub’s door slammed open against the wall.

Every eye turned to look as a farmer from the other side of the Quiet rushed in, his skin pale and sickly, his name eluding her for the moment, but she was instantly filled with dread as she recognized the panicked expression.

He stood just inside the door, his hands shaking and eyes shifting over everyone watching him, drawing in deep shuddering breaths.

“M-m-”

He dropped to his knees.

It was then that Jasmine saw the blood on his pants- deep red and beginning to dry.

“Spit it out Singer.” Someone called from beyond her sight.

“My A-Alfilda. The wee ones.” Wulmar Singer broke down in wretched sobs.

One of the tavern ladies knelt at his side, resting a hand on his shoulder, speaking just loud enough for everyone listening. “What happened to them Wulmar? What happened to your wife and babes?”

He tilted his head back, anguish turning his once pale face red. His mouth moved but no words came out save one.

“Demon.”

The others continued to try and coax more out of the obviously grieving man, but Jasmine had heard enough and she hurried out without another word, Dhoken quickly catching up.

“I need to speak to my brother and the elf.” She said quietly, her fear and racing heart keeping the cold at bay.

“I’m comin with ya.”

She didn’t bother to argue with him, she hadn’t the capacity of mind to do so just then.

Immediately upon entering the castle, she sent a footman to fetch her brothers to the med ward, before leading Dhoken there herself.

“You might want to take that off by the way.” Dhoken nodded toward the dirty mop cap still covering her hair to which she quickly removed and stuffed in an empty vase.

“Back again so soon?” The elf muttered with his eyes closed but she ignored him as she paced restlessly.

“Ello there, Dhoken, blacksmith from Novigrad. Who might you be?”

“Ruvaen, Scoia’tael, from nowhere.”

“And monster survivor.”

Silence settled between the three until her brothers both rushed in at once.

“Jasmine, you have got to stop this madness.” Atticus said in a deadly quiet.

Theo must have picked up on the anxiousness radiating from her for he interrupted Atticus before he could continue berating their sister. “Is this your new friend? The blacksmith?”

With a jerky nod she gave introductions between everyone. “Atti, Theo, this is Dhoken. And apparently he is Ruvaen.” She cut a quick glare to the calmly relaxing elf.

“Oh, we’ve introduced ourselves already.” Ruvaen added to no one in particular.

Atticus drew himself up, his countenance commanding. “Enough. Unless this is an apology for disappearing _again_ \- which you had better be prepared to grovel to Greta- then we’re done here.”

Jasmine ignored him and turned on Ruvaen. “That monster. What was it?”

“I don’t know.” Ruvaen said quietly, his gaze drifting to look out the window she had escaped through just a short time ago.

“Jazzy… what’s happened?” Theo asked quietly, coming to stand near her.

When she didn’t reply immediately, Dhoken cleared his throat and drew their attention.

“I suppose news will be here any moment. One of your country lads came into town covered in blood. Says his wife and children… yea.”

There was stunned silence before Atticus finally asked, “Who?”

“Wulmar Singer.” Jasmine answered quietly, lifting her gaze to meet her brothers. “Alfilda. Edith. Herbert. And little Osie.”

“I see.” Atticus said. “And you believe it’s the same monster?”

“I do. The squirrels did something to wake it up and now it’s killing out people.” She said hotly.

“Do not blame this on us!” Ruvaen snapped. “You were there dh’oine. I lost people too.”

Dhoken cut in, walking to the center of those gathered. “It sounds like to me that we have a monster problem… that means there’s only one thing to do.” After a satisfactorily dramatic pause, the dwarf rocked back and forth on his heels. “Hire a monster hunter. We need a witcher.”

Jasmine stared down at him, a small spark of excitement lighting her eyes. “A witcher. I’ve read about them!”

“There’s a problem with that.” Atticus said. “No one happens across Elevoss to look at our notice boards, and soon the mountains will be iced in. We’ll be trapped in with the monster while no one can get to us to help… by snow melt, we’ll have been picked off one by one.”

Jasmine felt her stomach churn as she recognized that Atti was right… their situation was impossible. And judging by Theo and Ruvaen’s pale visages, they agreed.

Dhoken however just grinned. “Lucky for us all, I know people. Leave it to me.”

* * *

* * *

Vengerberg One Week Later…

Iorveth had never paid much attention to those attuned to the ways of magic and chaos, ignored prophecies and superstitions, and thought those who relied on such things to be useless, deranged, or power hungry- and often a combination of all three.

Magic had done little for his ancestors and it did little for his people now.

He liked to think that he was responsible for his own future, for how events surrounding him were a result from his own actions, no need to look to the stars or the dance of flames to warn him that something unfortunate was going to happen.

In this life, that was a given.

But there were some days, awakening just before the sun were to rise above the horizon, he just knew something was going to happen. Could feel it in the stillness of the air as if the world were holding its breath until- as it usually happened- all hell broke loose.

And here, a week or so since the journey into the mines, he found himself waking to one such feeling. Whatever it was that the day held in store for himself, it was likely that it meant time for him and Ciaran to pack up.

Quickly easing from the bed he’d been using since arriving, he removed the bandages from his naked shoulder, humming in light approval at the rate they were healing, and a quick little thought of vain pleasure, quite happy that his tattoo was unmarred by the injury.

After a quick stretch to loosen up stiff muscles, and a thorough cleaning of his face in chilled water in a bucket, Iorveth dressed simply forgoing his thick leather and padded armor for the moment and packed his simple belongings.

As usual, the first floor of the tavern was empty save a scattering of passed out drunks, and as usual, Iorveth helped himself to leftover food from the night before and settled in to wait for Ciaran and Zoltan to find their way to his table.

The tavern was just like any other that he’d been in. Dingy, in need of various repairs, a good scrub, and clientele with deeper pockets, but it was warm, the food plentiful, and the owner didn’t care if his wanted poster was on every notice board across the northern realms and likely the south too- so long as he paid for his keep- something Zoltan’s little- if not troublesome- monster hunt helped with.

If he were alone, he would have already been gone. Paid his tab, mounted his horse and put the awakening city behind him, disappearing into the mountains as silently as he’d appeared. Likely would have ridden on days ago, injury or not as well.

But Ciaran was still with him and had a mangled leg after the little adventure in the mines and needed time to heal. Iorveth could readily admit that he was many terrible things but leaving behind an injured friend was not the type of scoundrel he was.

And this day, Iorveth was certain that his friend was recovered enough to continue their journey to somewhere isolated from bounty hunters, at least for the winter. The way the younger Aen Seidhe had danced the night away with tavern lasses and even a couple of Zoltan’s ‘lads’, told Iorveth all he needed to know on how well he was healing.

But picking up and leaving wouldn’t be quite as simple as if he were alone- that was apparent by the cold seeping in through the walls. They would be riding with the snows of winter on their heels, and that meant they didn’t have time to stop often to hunt and fill their bellies, not to mention neither of them had clothes fit for the cold ride and their horses would need blankets if they were to survive their own exposure.

“What’s got such deep concentration lining that face of yours and so early in the morn at that?” Zoltan asked, scrubbing a hand over his grizzled old face and dropping into the seat across from him, dropping a high pile of papers, a quill, and ink pot.

“Thinking about the supplies I need to purchase before we- Ciaran and I- leave Vengerberg.”

With a nod Zoltan tore apart a stale roll, sopped it in equally stale beer and popped it in his mouth. “Ah I noticed the pack. Well if the drink that boy consumed as well as the pair of tits that followed him to his room were anything to go by, you can either barge in and frighten the bollocks off him, or go see to your business and come back for him when you’re done.” Zoltan had a gleam of mischief in his dark eyes that said he planned to give their mutual friend a rough go of it when he woke up.

Iorveth chuckled and shook his head. “Let him have his fun. It’ll be months before he finds that sort of past time again.”

“True enough. Not many lassies where you two are a goin. Which is why I’m more than happy to say farewell to ye both when you saddle up.”

“Speaking of… tell Ciaran the plan when he finally makes it down?” Iorveth asked, already standing as he knew the answer.

Zoltan waved him off with a hearty agreement before pulling the plate of food Iorveth had been picking at through the morning.

Leaving his belongings with the dwarf save for the coin secured and hidden safely to his belt, Iorveth left the dusty tavern for the bustling city outside.

Finding what he needed was no problem and wasn’t expected to take but an hour or two at the most. Mahakam had a respectable market square where most everything could be found from travel ready vittles to horse blankets. A thick bear fur trimmed cloak of deep russet for him, and green for Ciaran set them back a heavy copper, but it was a necessary purchase for their journey.

As he finished up his mental shopping list, Iorveth forewent replenishing arrows as he picked up on three sets of eyes watching him throughout the market for the past half hour.

Instinct urged him to nonchalantly stroll back to the tavern.

Upon entering, he found Zoltan still where he’d left him only now, he was nose deep into correspondence, and Ciaran was still distinctly absent.

Iorveth cursed silently as he dropped his purchases off on the table with Zoltan, and ignoring the dwarfs protests over spilled ink, sprinted up the stairs for Ciaran’s room.

“Get up. We need to leave.” Iorveth growled hotly at the still sleeping Ciaran while paying no attention to the two bar maids crying out in surprise and watching with wide eyes.

“What’s the hurry?” Ciaran mumbled around a yawn.

It was apparent to Iorveth that their days and nights of warmth, full bellies, and in his case- company, and softened his senses. But rather than answer in front of the wide eyed women, he tossed Ciaran’s pants at him and turned to leave.

Back downstairs, Zoltan was mopping up spilt ink as best he could, while shooting him a glare as he approached with quick, sure steps.

“What was all of that about?”

“Three bounty hunters.” Iorveth replied quietly, setting about packing the new supplies. “Seems we overstayed our welcome by a day.”

A thumping from behind him drew Iorveth to glance over his shoulder to find Ciaran hopping down the stairs as he pulled on a boot, his hair wildly mussed, shirt still open but his leggings were laced.

“Someone want to tell me why Iorveth interrupted a spectacular morning?” He grumbled.

Zoltan chuckled and shook his head with raised brows. “Seems you’ve a knack for pissin all your friends off this day. Now slow down, there’s something you should see. And _someone_ as well.”

Iorveth paused his packing to stare at the dwarf. “Who?”

Zoltan merely picked up a letter and held it out to him. “You’ll see soon enough. She’s seeing to her horse right now, so go ahead and read this.” After Iorveth took the letter and began to scan its contents, Zoltan continued. “Was sent by an old friend of mine who thought I was still in Novigrad. Knew I was friendly with a certain witcher. Dandelion sent it on up here.”

Iorveth was silent as he reread the letter, a thrum of excitement beginning to rush through his blood.

“What does it have to do with us?” Ciaran asked as he stretched one arm over his head and ruffled his dark hair as he then lowered it.

“My, my. If it isn’t Iorveth, the mangiest squirrel that I ever did see!” A lilting, feminine voice came from behind him, drawing him to glance up from the letter to find one travel disheveled Ciri striding toward them, a wide smile curving her lips. “Zoltan didn’t mention you were here… how are you, old friend?”

“We met briefly at Kaer Moren, most of which was spent fighting off the Wild Hunt. We are hardly ‘old friends.” He replied testily.

He ignored the elbow Ciaran sent to his ribs but watched in annoyance as the other Aen Seidhe quickly righted his clothing and flattened his hair before giving a bright smile to Ciri.

“Don’t mind Iorveth, he’s woken on the wrong side of the bed it seems. I wasn’t at this legendary battle however…I’m Ciaran.” He held his hand out which she shook with that same winning smile as before.

“Ciri. And I never mind him. I’m quite accustomed to moody men.”

Iorveth grew impatient and turned to face Zoltan once more. “Elevoss. Are you familiar with it?”

“Ah… not entirely. In the blues. Profitable but isolated.” Zoltan gave a wicked grin. “Why? Fancy some more monster hunting?”

Iorveth was given pause at the mention of the Blue Mountains, but pushed past with a heavy scoff, tossed down the letter and resumed packing. “No, I’ve had my fill of that for the moment. Your friend mentioned Scoia’tael in those mountains. Some killed by the creature, one recovering in the keep, and others out in the wilderness. I’m going to go find them and I leave as soon as I’m done. With the bounty hunters on our backs, this is perfect timing.”

Ciaran finally pulled his gaze from Ciri to stare at Iorveth instead with wide eyes for a heartbeat of a moment before rushing back up the stairs, presumably to fetch his belongings.

Ciri leaned over to pick up the discarded letter. “What’s this about a monster?”

“Something fearsome enough to tear apart people. Dhoken and his friends that survived the attack couldn’t say what it was exactly. They wrote me looking for Geralt. They need a witcher.”

“Well then.” Ciri grinned over at him, tucking the letter away in a pocket of her traveling cloak. “It’s a good thing you have me. I’ll ready my horse… poor thing just settled in.”

“What?” Iorveth asked distractedly, pulling on armor and buckling straps. “You’re coming?”

“Absolutely.” Ciri said firmly, chin tilted up as if she expected an argument, but he only nodded and shoved a sack of grain for the horses in her arms as he passed by.

“Are the both of you certain? Once you’re up there, there’ll be no leavin till late spring.” Zoltan asked.

With a firm nod, Iorveth strode for the door, not paying Ciaran mind as he rushed back to his side, bows, swords, and armor in place- other than to toss him the new cloak.

“I could care less about the monster problem; I’ll leave that to the offspring of _Gwynbleidd_. But I have people up there that need my help.”

Zoltan offered nothing else as he followed his friends out of the tavern and into the street where they abruptly stopped walking. Peering around them, he found the cause with a roll of his eyes. “The bounty hunters you mentioned?”

Iorveth sighed and tossed his bags to the side while drawing his sword. “Zoltan stay out of this, Ciri you as well. Only Ciaran and I are wanted here, no need for Hoog to exile all you as well.” He never took his gaze off the three burly men that waited with swords of their own.

“I miss my bed already.” Ciaran replied grimly but followed Iorveth’s lead and drew his sword.

When Ciri offered protest by reaching for hers, Zoltan stopped her with a shake of his head. “C’mon lass, let the boys handle this one. You can have the next one… it’s their faces on the posters, not ours.”

“Fine.” She said, not really eager for violence, but acknowledging that it wasn’t truly her fight.

Eager to put this behind him and get into the mountains, Iorveth twirled his blade then made his move.

* * *

* * *

Elevoss Some Time Later…

The streets were quiet and empty in a way that had nothing to do with the threat of snow.

Empty save for the small group of Jasmine, Atticus, and Theodore and the horses they rode.

Bundled in winter cloaks and fur, solemnly taking in the dire straits of their town, their home. Market stalls were covered in frost, untouched in days. Shops with dark windows and lifeless chimneys. The Unicorn that Jasmine had felt so in awe of just weeks ago was painfully silent. There were no sounds of hammers striking metal coming from Ingvald’s.

The terror that plagued them had at first stayed far beyond the city walls, not that the family hadn’t felt pain of those further away, as the dawn of each day, new reports of death were delivered… but that terror had quickly reached the city.

Guards had been ineffective in stopping the monster. Hunters had failed and paid for it with their lives. No one seemed capable of naming the monster, nor surviving it.

And now, with their people boarding up their windows and afraid to leave their homes… the Voss family stood at the edge of their home as they had everyday since Atticus sent a raven to Ard Carraigh to then be run to Novigrad to Dhoken’s friend, staring out into the frosted countryside beyond, despair weighing on their shoulders.

Waiting.

Wagon wheels and horses hadn’t disturbed the ground in days, but there was something out there, just beyond her sight.

Jasmine steadied her breath and tried to reach for the feeling, to determine whether it was the same as that night in the ruins… but the clarity she sought remained elusive.

Everything was still.

Until a snowflake softly fell into Jasmine’s sight.

She gently held out an ungloved hand, allowing it to fall into her palm where it immediately melted.

Any other winter, she would have caught her breath in wonder at the first snowfall… there was something magical about the cold and the flutter of snow as it brushed her cheeks for the first time in months.

But this winter…

“Snow.” Atticus said quietly, watching as it began to fall in earnest, quickly creating a thin blanket around them.

“No one is coming to help us.” Jasmine said, slowly turning her head to meet first Atti’s gaze, and then Theo’s. It pained her to see the fear clouding their gazes… a fear that she was certain they could see in hers.

Out of habit, Jasmine reached for her moonstone, only to feel its loss keenly and wishing for the strength of her mother. She knew better than most the horror that was coming for them, even if she had no name for it.

“Riders approaching Your Grace.” A nearby guard called out from his nearby lookout post. “Three of them.”

Relief was not swift for the family as they waited with tense postures that had their mounts shifting uneasily. The likelihood that it was someone fleeing the monster, coming to report on the death of more of their people, was much more likely than anything good.

But as the riders slowly emerged from the winter fog, it was becoming more and more difficult to not let hope bloom within her chest.

“Can you recognize them?” Theo asked. “I’d know a horse like that anywhere.”

“Not with this snow clouding up my vision.” Atti answered.

The three riders sat atop a white and brown paint, a dapple grey, and the one Theo had been indicating, an impressive black stallion. Jasmine didn’t know much about horses beyond how to sit one well enough- she left the expertise on that to Theo- but she knew that anyone local with such a beast would be more than known to her brothers.

Funnily enough it was the slighter figure seated atop it, controlling it with envious ease.

All three were heavily hooded against the weather, but now that they were nearly to them, she could make out the various weapons strapped to the saddles.

Strangers with swords and bows.

Relief caused her body to tremble in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Bloody hell… we’re saved.” Atticus said breathlessly as he came to the same conclusion as her.

Jasmine and Theo looked at him in shock.

“Atti… did you just curse?” Jasmine asked a bit teasingly, the first smile in weeks to touch her face, curving her lips.

Theo chuckled while Atticus only shifted in the saddle a bit, clearing his throat and raising a hand in greeting.

The rider on the black waved back before urging the horse to pick up its pace, leaving the other two behind.

It quickly became obvious to the three of them that it was a woman beneath that hooded cloak, and as she drew close, pulling her horse to a stop, she slipped her hood off.

Green eyed, ashen haired, and scared, to say the young woman who- Jasmine put to be around her age if on the younger side of it- was beautiful was putting it mildly. She had a sparkle in her eyes as well as a friendly smile and an elegance despite her warrior appearance.

Jasmine liked her instantly.

“Hello there, wasn’t expecting a welcoming party! Someone lookin for a witcher around here?” She spoke with a refined voice and studied each of them quickly before remaining focused on Atticus, no doubt because he gave off the air of being the one to talk to.

Before anyone could offer introductions, attention turned to the other two in her party as they pulled up on either side of her and a peculiar feeling overcame Jasmine. A feeling she hadn’t felt in years now, and one that only brought wretched memories.

Her gaze locked on the rider atop the dapple and a feeling intensified. If anyone was speaking, the words were lost to her as she lost all senses but sight, and even that seemed fogged over.

She knew him, and she knew he recognized her as well.

Knew who it was even before he pulled back his hood, even though his face was changed by a horrific scar.

But it was impossible, because he was supposed to be dead. Made to pay for all the crimes he’d committed.

Jasmine sat frozen for an endless span of a heartbeat; gaze locked with a moment of her past that was better off forgotten.

Then without warning, she broke free of that green gaze, whirled her horse around and took flight, ignoring the calls of her brothers, not caring about the inquisition that her behavior would surely bring.

Their pleas for help may have been answered, but she had not been prepared for the cost.

So, she ran.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up... how about a trip down memory lane?


	5. Upon the Hill

* * *

* * *

Ard Carraigh nearly six years past…

Magic was swirling through the air around a youthful Jasmine as she watched the country side scroll pass dreamily. The weather was warm for spring, allowing for the carriage windows to remain open for fresh air and a cool breeze that tasted of wildflowers and grass. 

For the past hour or so, she’d had her head stuck out as much as was comfortably possible, her arms crossed and braced on the window, watching as the snow capped mountains- her home- were left behind, smoothing into meadows and grassy knolls.

The clouds seemed so far away, the sky was brighter, and everything was just so… green as compared to the grey skies and black mountain stones of Elevoss.

“I do demand that you sit properly Jasmine… those freckles will be impossible to cover for the wedding, and everything must be perfect. Including Serena’s maid of honor.” Aunt Hestia said with a disdainful sniff. “And if I’m lucky, I’ll find someone to take you off your brother’s hands before Serena can even toss her bouquet.”

Jasmine ignored her- as was her habit to tune out her aunt’s ceaseless nagging, watching a bird take flight from a nearby tree and soar along with them, almost as if it were showing them the way.

“Leave her mother… it’s a beautiful day, and my cousin is beautiful no matter what.” Serena added with that calm reproach that only she could get away with when Aunt Hestia was involved.

Jasmine shot her a quick grin, before returning back to her gazing. 

The carriage they rode along in was a part of three carriages laden with luggage and ladies, two dozen mounted soldiers, her brothers on their own steeds, and two supply wagons nearly overflowing with traveling supplies and all of Serena’s belongings.

Her dear cousin, truly her only friend in the world, much less the isolated Elevoss, was getting married at the end of spring. And while she adored lovely Serena and she wished nothing more for her cousin to cry off the impending nuptials and never leave her side, she couldn’t help the excitement that buzzed through her blood.

For the first time since the attack and murder of her family… the Voss siblings were coming down from their mountain. 

The war that had gripped the nations was coming to its end with the cries of victory of the north. Winters grasp had loosened with the promise of a bountiful spring. And Serena was at last considered a woman grown at ten and eight, with Sigrud Westergaard promising an advantageous alliance. 

Jasmine peeked over at her nervous cousin, smiling softly at the hope that colored the golden beauties cheeks.

She would never tell Serena that Sigrud had tried to marry her first and had refused vehemently. Nothing against the boy, but he was only one of many that she had been refusing for years now.

Lucky for her, Atti hadn’t put up much of a fight about her refusals, just sealing her responses with his signet and returning back to his work.

It had indeed come as a shock to her when Serena told her she was to be married to Westergaard, and Jasmine’s instinct had been to beg her to not do this. To break it off and be unattached and free as she was so that some day they might escape their home and see the world arm in arm.

But Serena had known her well, and before she could so much as open her mouth to cry out these objections spinning through her mind, Serena had taken her by the hand and whispered that it would be alright.

She _wanted_ to marry Sigrud. To have that manor in the country, with garden parties and have children and to live a good honorable life with him.

And Jasmine could hardly argue against that.

So, she’d instead looked forward to the adventure this wedding would be, and she had so far enjoyed every moment. The mad dash from inn to inn, sharing rooms with five ladies, squished into carriages, wandering aimlessly when a wheel became stuck in a rut and they had to have the soldiers haul it out.

Even Aunt Hestia’s ceaseless picking at her didn’t even scratch the surface of her excitement.

When they’d been delayed by two days so that they could detour around a recent battlefield, Jasmine had been torn between impatience to be to her first proper city visit, and delight at more countryside.

The only dampener had been all the wonderful places she’d seen out in the distance, rolling by and out of reach. Small towns, castles, rivers, caves, forests and ruins. People passing by with merchant wares, waving hello, but unable to tell their story. Village children running along side of them singing out rhymes, but unable to crawl in her lap and sing them with her.

While she was indeed on a fantastic journey to help a most beloved cousin start the next chapter of her life… so much life in the meantime had been passed by, and it left her with a longing heart.

And now they were quickly approaching the great capitol of Kaedwin, Ard Carriagh, the scout had informed them mid morning. The sun would be well and truly gone by the time they rolled up to Westergaard’s town residence, but Jasmine was already planning her first great escape.

It wasn’t long however before escaping her Aunt Hestia’s watchful gaze was motivated by something other than the local mystery…

After a day of restful sleeping until midday in the suite she would share with Serena for the next two months, Jasmine urgently tugged the still sleepy bride to be behind her as they left the town house- if its size could be considered mere _house_ and took to the city streets.

Ard Carriagh was immense compared to Elevoss, both with its buildings, and with the sheer number of population. 

Jasmine had been certain that there had been more people on that one main city street than their mountain all together. It had been… as exhilarating as it had been frightening.

She was in a place where one face blended into the other, where the stories and experiences they had to share were endless… but also where one could disappear, never to be seen again.

Over the week, she used Serena and her wedding preparations shamelessly to mark out all the places she wanted to go alone and take her time with.

The junk shops, the libraries, the lecture halls, the museums, and there was even an observatory. At some point before the wedding, their party was due to visit King Henselt, and while she wasn’t looking forward to the all the pomp and circumstance which would be required of her, she could help the itch in her fingertips to walk through the halls where history was made- for better or worse.

When Serena and Aunt Hestia were at last distracted by flowers and ribbons, when Theodore had essentially moved into a gambling hell- she assumed at least for he had quite disappeared except for tea- and Atticus was taking full advantage of his time in the city to meet with buyers and suppliers… Jasmine made her first great escape into the city on her own.

She snuck into a lecture on the importance of alchemy, bought up a collection of sea shells from a travelling peddler, and raided the college library.

As she wove her way through the people, horses, and carts buzzing from here to there, her arms piled high with books, the most extraordinary sight caught her attention.

Something that had her stopped in her tracks in the middle of the crush of people passing her by.

A man.

Taller than most around him, dark hair hanging to his shoulders and held back by a thick band of green cloth, dressed in- to her surprise, Westergaard’s livery, and leading three white mares down the street.

Even from her spot a couple of blocks ahead of him, she could see the beauty in the line of his jaw, the regal shape of his nose, and the proud way he held his shoulders. And she just knew with everything within her that he’d have gorgeous eyes to match. She couldn’t guess their color from here, but a man like that, gorgeous eyes were a given.

Now Jasmine knew she wasn’t one to lose it over a pretty man, but she had never shied away from admitting to what she found attractive. To be fair… Elevoss had its handsome lads, its homely lads, the ones that were personable and intelligent, worked hard or played all day… lads of every sort though there might not be many of them and one or two she’d even fancied. 

And since coming to the capitol, she’d seen more men that were attention drawing than she could have imagined… but none had her paused mid step- her arms aching from holding her bulky bounty for so long, being knocked about a bit by those rushing past her, utterly entranced.

As he grew closer, Jasmine suddenly grew conscious of her rumpled appearance from digging through dusty antique shops and hauling around books. Her hair was more out of its pins than in, and her sensible walking clothes were wrinkled and unimpressive.

Jasmine snapped her attention away from him just as his gaze met hers, turned on her heel and hurried back to Westergaard’s house.

Aunt Hestia’s complaints about her dirty appearance went unheard as she dumped everything onto her bed and immediately rushed to the front windows to watch for the man’s arrival.

He’d clearly been dressed as one of Westergaard’s men, so it stood to reason that he would arrive soon after her.

Only he never appeared, and Jasmine was finally dragged away from her hiding place amongst the curtains to dress and ready for dinner.

As always it was a boring affair with the men discussing the goings on of the war and the ladies talking about the progress of the wedding plans, neither toping appealing to Jasmine.

Instead, she daydreamed of a beautiful man striding toward her with purpose, sweeping her up to sit on a white horse before joining her and galloping away.

It was terribly cliche of her, and never in her life did Jasmine think she would have found herself mooning over some tall, dark, and proud… but here she was. 

Instead of planning on sneaking into the observatory at night, she was wondering the most tactile way to ask where Westergaard’s men spent their time off duty.

Jasmine had snorted lightly to herself at that, to be sure it would have raised more than Aunt Hestia’s indomitable brow…

But as a couple of days passed with no sight of her mystery man, Jasmine grew out of her infatuation and returned to her trouble making ways. Stuffing a journal, compass, food, a map, and a small dagger into a pack, she slipped out to the stables, ready to follow the river out of the city to see what could be found in the countryside.

Horses- caring for one, riding one, and certainly saddling one, had never been something Jasmine excelled at. She could ride enough to get from one point to the next, but she’d fallen more times than she could count now and tended to just walk if the distance were reasonable.

But for exploring outside the city, she wanted something she could save time with, and so pulled her hair into a tight braid, dressed in trousers, riding boots, and a short cape over her vest and blouse, she stared up at a pretty little brown mare… the tamest looking one of the lot.

She held her hand through the bars of the stable door, smiling slightly as the warm velvety skin brushed over her palm searching for a treat.

“Alright girl, here ya go.” Jasmine said quietly, glancing around the dark, smelly building before slipping a carrot she’d nicked just for this reason through to the horse. Once the crunching of the horse eating ceased, she eased open the door and stepped back for the horse to lumber out.

“You going to stay still and calm for this right? Atta girl… now let’s see…” On the opposite wall she found halters hanging from pegs and saddles mounted on wooden stands. It was an interesting scene to watch she was sure, standing on a stool and hefting the saddle up and checking the buckles no less than eight times before moving onto the riding harness and reigns.

Jasmine felt a bit wobbly in the seat as she rode out through the stable doors, watchful of anyone out and about this early in the morning, but she held tight with her knees, already able to taste the freedom that lay just beyond the great city bridge.

The sleepy guards standing post barely acknowledged her as she walked by, wishing she rode well enough to let the horse run freely, but she just wasn’t brave enough for that bit. Too many falls under her belt. So, she held steady, and instead thought out loud.

“Were to horse? Hmmm… you need a name. You’re an adventurous horse now for the moment so you need a proper adventure name. Quest? Kipper? How about Stormmane?” Jasmine chuckled to herself. “Oh, I quite like that. Stormmane it is.”

The sun slowly rose and not far from the city, the two left the main road for a small deer trail, following it into the trees. Eventually she pulled Stormmane to a stop atop a hill, giving a fantastic view of the capitol, the river, and the surrounding countryside, the mountains small in the distance.

For a time, they just stood still.

“It’s so quiet.” Jasmine murmured, just now realizing just how noisy the city was.

Here, the only sounds were the wind in the trees and the birds singing promises of spring.

A sense of calm came to her, something that Jasmine hadn’t even realized she was missing.

But it was broken when Stormmane abruptly reared back with a frightened bray, sending Jasmine tumbling backwards with her own frightened shriek and hitting the ground heavily.

By the time Jasmine came out of her painful shock enough to fill her lungs with a much needed deep breath and push herself up to lean on her elbows, Stormmane was long gone.

“Bloody fucking horse… what happened? Stormmane!” Jasmine wheezed out, trying to blink past the ache still vibrating though her body.

For the second time in less than a minute, her heart stopped with freight when an arrow suddenly appeared, imbedding itself a hands width from her leg, spearing a gruesome looking snake through the head.

Rushing backwards on her hands and heels, she looked up to find none other than the beautiful and mysterious Westergaard lad from earlier in the week staring at her with an expression carved in stone and holding a bow.

“Snake spooked the horse. Tell me, do sisters of dukes often steal horses and curse like sailors?” He spoke with a deep voice that gave nothing away as he slowly approached.

Jasmine could hardly believe her rotten luck, the embarrassment nearly chasing away any pain. Something that she wanted to scold herself over… since when did she get embarrassed in the presence of well anyone at all? But there it was, the heat flooding her cheeks. 

And it only grew deeper when he slowly lowered a hand to help her up.

The little independent spitfire within that often left Atticus at his wits end and amused Theodore to stitches, urged her to shove it aside and stand on her own, her unreliably shaky knees be damned.

But then… but then she looked from a hand alone that shouldn’t be able to send a myriad of wicked thoughts through the far reaches of her mind, and up to meet brilliant green eyes framed by long dark lashes.

And slowly placed her hand in his as if she were in a dream.

In that moment she imagined exactly how her life would play out now… they were going to fall in love through clandestine trysts before she convinced him to return to Elevoss with her where they would together win Atticus over, marry, settle in the rocky countryside, and raise-

No. No, no, no!

Jasmine shook it all away and pulled back her hand as soon as he’d pulled her to her feet.

“Is it really stealing if your cousin is marrying the owner? And yes, we sisters of dukes are taught all the best curse words in finishing school.”

He blinked as if surprised she’d bothered to answer but didn’t continue the little game.

Deciding to move on as quickly as possible, she turned away and began to follow Stormmane.

“Town is the opposite direction… my lady.” He said the last part almost as an after thought.

“I’m not going to town. I’ve got the catch up with Stormmane.”

There wasn’t a reply, though she was secretly pleased when she heard him following and eventually catching up to walk alongside her.

“Thank you by the way. I don’t know if the snake was venomous or not but…”

“It was. You would have died in agony within the hour. It was foolish to wonder about in a place you are unfamiliar with on your own.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “If I waited around for others to tag along then I’d never go anywhere. Just accept my gratitude and move on.”

No reply.

“So… how long have you worked for Westergaard?”

“Long enough.”

“What do you do?”

“The horse master. I care for his horses.”

Jasmine sent him a blinding smile. “That’s brilliant! I’m awful with horses, as I’m certain you could tell, but I have an ample respect for those who can work with them.”

No reply.

Oh, one of those sorts.

Jasmine wanted to say that she wasn’t feeling challenged and intrigued… but by damn she was. She met the man less than ten minutes ago and she already wanted him to open up to her and spill everything about himself to her.

But she held herself back, and instead stuck to things she had a right to know.

“Did you follow me all the way from the stable?”

“I did.”

“And you just watched? Why?” She asked genuinely curious.

“To see what sort of trouble a duke’s sister could find.”

Jasmine laughed lightly and flashed him another grin. “Quite so. I’m Jasmine by the way. Not just ‘dukes’ sister.’ And you are?”

There was a long, drawn out pause. So long she wondered if he were going to answer at all.

“Gaiven.”

“Gaiven. Right. Pleasure to meet, and be saved, by you.”

Another long pause of silence.

“Pleasure was mine.”

Jasmine didn’t know then, but that had been the start of something spectacular. The stuff of fluffy stories that were meant to have happy endings and ever afters.

They found Stormmane, to which she eventually learned was named Rose, but Gaiven allowed her to continue to call the horse Stormmane.

It began with that day, of trekking through the outer city wilderness. And continued with passing glances whenever she saw him about- and suddenly it was as if she were seeing him everywhere.

And it pleased something within her immensely whenever she caught him watching her as she walked by, and even more so when he began to join her on her little escapades.

The first time he popped up next to her as she studied a map on display in a museum, she’d been quite startled. But then he spoke about the accuracy- or the lack there of at least- and she’d been lost.

Her argument that he couldn’t possibly be certain that it was inaccurate, no one could unless they took careful and meticulous measurements every step of the way… that had been the first time he’d smiled at her.

Since then, it became a game between them.

Jasmine would escape from her aunt and disappear somewhere about the city, and Gaiven would find her. 

And she loved it.

A few days into their innocent little trysts, she grew the courage to take his hand as they walked, sending him a cheeky grin that though he didn’t return, there was a softening about his eyes that told her it was alright.

This small bit of touching was alright, for them both.

But even that changed when he joined her in the observatory one late night as the local scholars were naming the stars.

They sat on the fringes, watching as telescopes were turned and the magnification adjusted, coordinates called out and quills scratching on paper.

He was dressed in a simple white shirt and dark brown breeches and boots, bandana covering his dark hair and ears as always… he looked relaxed, sitting back in his chair watching everyone buzz about.

Content.

She still didn’t know much about him, but he was always tightly coiled and watchful… making her wonder if he’d fought in the war. But in that moment, he was everything she knew him as, and that was peace.

Peace that he somehow made her feel, only when they were together, nothing more than their hands touching.

And suddenly, Jasmine wanted more. Briefly, she touched there pendant where it hung about her throat, wondering what her mother would do… but her parents had been utterly in love.

Without further thought, all in one movement, she used a finger to turn him by the chin till he faced her, and pressed her lips to his, her eyes closing.

It was her first kiss, so she had no clue if she were doing it correct, but his lips were soft against hers and he didn’t pull away despite the stiffening of his shoulders. 

After what Jasmine thought was the proper amount of time she sat back with a pleased smile and turned her attention back to watching the scholars work, wondering if she could somehow sneak a peek through the telescope.

All thought fled her mind though as she was suddenly pulled from her chair and onto Gaiven’s lap, her gasp cut off by his mouth crashing to hers.

His tongue traced along her bottom lip before dipping inside, and if the feeling alone were enough to cause her to forget how to breath, the taste of him… gods she thought she’d known what a kiss was.

But this had the power to drive her mad, she quickly found out. 

Jasmine didn’t even recall making noise, but when he’d broken away just long enough to remind her that they were not somewhere private, only to kiss her senseless again, she realized that indeed… she’d moaned quiet urgently at some point.

Their meetings took on a whole new urgency after that first kiss. No longer was Jasmine escaping to find adventure, she was escaping for him, and everything he made her feel.

They never really spoke… just stole short moments of passion… passion that was growing more and more difficult to walk away from, leaving her frustrated and wanting more.

It said something about her family that they never noticed the changes within her… the exhaustion that darkened her eyes, the evasiveness as she came up with excuse after excuse to leave to some corner of the house only to disappear altogether.

And as the night of the dinner with the king, the wedding the following day, and her imminent departure came ever closer, Jasmine tried to find the words to ask him to come with her.

If such convincing words existed, she didn’t know of them.

Her life had become a whirlwind of wedding preparations and looking for any moment in which she could find herself back in Gaiven’s arms. Moments that she craved but left her wanting more than ever.

Finally, the dinner with King Henselt came, and it was the boring affair she’d expected. There were Lords and cabinet members, their wives, and children, and it seemed all they could talk about was the war.

They gossiped about weapon and food shipments, who killed who in battle, what terror the Scoia’tael had wreaked on the field hospitals and how many were to be hung.

The only truly interesting part for most of it left Jasmine feeling ill and she wished they’d move to another topic, was that Henselt was due to leave for the treaty summit soon.

The party ended at last, but the night was far from over for Jasmine.

Upon returning to her room and dressing for bed, she laid atop the covers, wondering what Gaiven was doing. Tomorrow was their last day and it would be filled with Serena’s wedding. After that, they were back up to Elevoss and she’d never found a way to ask him to come with her.

She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of the balcony doors opening. Quickly she sat up, eyes wide when she saw Gaiven standing there bathed in moonlight and holding a hand out to her.

Jasmine glanced toward Serena’s door, finding it closed and quiet.

Withing a heartbeat, her hand was in his. They were escaping down the trellis. She was swept up into strong arms and sat on a waiting Stormmane. He sat behind her, holding her tight around the waist with one arm, and they were off. 

Away from the town house. Away from the city. Across the bridge. Veering onto the little deer trail. Finally stopping when at the top of a familiar hill.

Gaiven dismounted and she eagerly fell into his waiting arms.

His mouth on hers felt just as wonderful, tasted just as perfectly as it always did.

As always, there were no words spoken, even though she had thousands to say. She’d been so wrapped up in just experiencing that she never said how she felt… and suddenly their time had run out.

Jasmine knew she couldn’t ask him to come with her, to leave whatever sort of life he had beyond working for Westergaard. And somehow, she was alright with that. They had the night.

So, when his through kissing eased and she suspected he was about to pull away and take her back to the house, Jasmine took control.

Her night dress was easily untied and slipped down her body, pooling at her feet in the grass. She shivered slightly as his green eyes ran down her body before meeting hers. 

She didn’t know if she loved him… or if he felt similarly for her, and she didn’t care. It seemed he didn’t either for he took her offer with vigor.

He began with a brush of his fingers down the sides of her breasts, tracing down the line of her ribs to her hips where he gripped her backside tightly and dragged her to him in a swift movement.

From that alone she felt a painful urgency tightening at the apex of her thighs, a need that she’d only read about in steamy romances, and just barely begun to feel herself.

But she had no experience with this particular deed, and she knew without a doubt that he was quite good at this, so the small reign of control that she had, she gladly relinquished to him.

Allowed him to run his tongue down the side of her throat, folding his body down to taste her breast before urging her to lay in the grass.

When he removed his clothing… Jasmine couldn’t remember. She just knew that her hands were gliding across skin, soft save for the occasional scar. Through a lust filled haze she noticed an intricate tattoo covering part of his chest, but it looked unfinished.

“Beautiful…” She’d murmured tracing a finger over one of the leaves before her eyes closed once more, his teeth dragging a sensitive nipple between his lips. Her moans escaped into the night, and she was thankful that they were truly alone.

There might be snakes and bears about, but she was unafraid.

Hips pressed against hers, a long, stiff part of himself sought entrance, and instinctively she lifted her hips.

As he entered her, Jasmine groaned, finding pleasure through the pain that she’d read first couplings could bring, shoving her hands into his hair and pulling the bandana from his head.

She felt… full. But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t moving enough. Wasn’t moving _fast_ enough.

So, while he held her close, pressing his lips to her neck as he rocked slowly into her, Jasmine pulled his hair and tried to urge him on. 

It was here, that feeling she’d been searching for, finally spiraled through her, leaving her panting and utterly exhausted… and soon Gaiven seemed to have found it as well as he surged against her one last time before falling still.

She felt his loss when he withdrew from her body and rolled onto his back. But it did nothing to stop the smile that came across her face, the happiness that bloomed within her.

With a burst of energy, Jasmine sat and leaned over him. “That was brilliant! I bit painful there in the middle but that was expected, and it went away quickly. How was it for you? Enjoyable?”

Gaiven blinked up at her, a small smile coming to his lips.

“Indeed, it was.”

Jasmine grinned, pecked him with a kiss on the lips and moved to begin dressing in her night dress once more.

“I wonder what took so long for us to do that. I’ve certainly wanted to for a long time now. And now that the dinner with King Henselt is over and Serena’s wedding is just hours away, we nearly lost our chance.”

“The dinner… how was it?”

Jasmine shook the grass from her night dress, wincing slightly at the ache between her legs and the sticky mess they’d made of her, already looking forward to cleaning up as soon as they returned to the house.

“It was boring, as these sort typically are. We must have truly won if the king is leaving for Cintra tomorrow… then again they are still arming soldiers, but I think that has something to do with the Scoia’tael… ”Jasmine turned to face him once her night dress was tied once more.

Gaiven was pulling his breeches up over his bum, and Jasmine had never really thought of someone’s backside as attractive before, but she found she rather liked his. Something wicked in her wanted her to reach out and caress it, but she held herself back and ran her gaze up the line of his spine.

Though it had to be after midnight, the moon shone bright and bathed him in its light.

But there was something odd about him… she was just realizing as she studied the back of his head… the first time without the bandana covering him.

Gaiven was elven. 

The proof was there in the ears, the tips poking through the long strands of his hair. Ears that he’d always kept covered. And then there was the rarely seen smile… the teeth that somewhere in the back of her mind she’d known were oddly sized but had been too swept up into it all to care about.

So, he was elven… Jasmine could look past that, because- well she’d truly enjoyed their romps about the city, and he wasn’t a murderer… but a horror was beginning to set in her mind.

“What have I done…” she whispered, watching him pull on his shirt and tuck it into his breeches. She had her fears, but she had to be sure… she had to give him the chance to prove her wrong. Forcing strength into her voice she tried to appear relaxed. “Gaiven… tell me you’ll come home with me after the wedding. Atti would welcome you if you do… or at the very least promise to write.”

Gaiven was silent, but he did turn to face her and she couldn’t believe how blind she was. It was painfully evident that he was elven, even without the pointed ears as evidence. 

But it was more than that.

He was the enemy.

She could see it in his eyes. He had never been Westergaard’s man.

Tears burned and threatened to fall.

“What was this? You might as well tell me… I can’t tell anyone anyway.”

Silence.

So, she filled it.

“It occurred to me quite some time ago that I know nothing about you… oh I know you’re good with horses and a bow. You’re educated and well mannered. I also know that you like sweets- especially those little pastries with the fruit. And you smoke, I’ve smelled it on you often enough… And I didn’t let it bother me… all the half conversations we had this past month because I was having an adventure. It was fun, sneaking around, having a laugh. But for you… you were working were you not? Hoping the empty headed human overheard something you could use.”

“Did you truly expect me to return with you?”

Jasmine huffed out a pathetic laugh and walked over to the waiting Stormmane. “I expect nothing. I hoped I was wrong about you… but you’re all the same aren’t you…” She tried to pull herself into the saddle, but Stormmane was too tall. Growling in rising frustration she nearly gave up and resigned to walk the entire way back, barefoot and in her night dress if she had too, but she was not going to ask him for help.

But hands suddenly gripped her waist and lifted her into the saddle, to which she sent him a dark glare, warning him against even thinking about joining her in the saddle.

Whether he heeded her warning or had no intention of even trying to begin with, Gaiven stepped back once she was stable.

“I suppose I ought to be grateful that you merely seduced me for information rather than torture me. But somehow, I feel more shamed this way… I think I’d have preferred my nails ripped off than this.”

Gaiven gave nothing away with his expression, whether he was affected by her words or anything they had shared together. Just as their first meeting. He’d always been like this; she had just been too fucking stupid to notice or care.

A deep hatred for herself simmered in her stomach. The naivety that she looked down on others for… and yet she was worse than all of them.

With a shout, Jasmine urged Stormmane into a quick trot, following the path away from the hill and back to the main road, and from there across the bridge, into the city and to the town house.

By the time she’d tucked Stormmane safely back into her stable and snuck back to her room, Jasmine was exhausted in mind as well as body. As she cleaned up her body, silent tears tracked down her cheeks.

She’d wanted to fall in love with him… had been halfway there despite how little she knew about him. But he’d effectively smothered any such feelings of fondness, leaving her feeling used.

Somehow, after a sleepless night, she’d dressed up and smiled for her beloved cousin’s wedding. Danced and laughed during the reception and waved dear Serena and her new husband off as they rode away in a carriage bound for their manor in Daevon.

And through it all, Jasmine had not been able to help herself and searched for _him_ in the face of every man dressed in Westergaard’s livery. But he wasn’t there, and she feared about why.

The morning following the wedding Jasmine had tucked away into a carriage with a still weeping Aunt Hestia, and they rolled slowly through the city traffic.

But a commotion caught their attention and both women had peered out the carriage windows. 

It was an elf, dressed in leather armor with a green gambeson shouting as he was held at sword point and shoved into a prison cart, his hands and ankles shackled.

Aunt Hestia tsked but Jasmine swallowed painfully. 

“Atti…” she called to her brother as he rode his horse up beside them. “What is happening?”

Atticus glanced from her to the elf in the prison cart. “That there is the infamous Iorveth. One of the Scoia’tael commanders of the Vrihedd Brigade. Part of the peace treaty is for him and his entire unit to be executed as war criminals.”

“Ho-how did they catch him?” She whispered, unable to tear her gaze from elf she once knew as Gaiven. 

“A last ditch effort to assassinate the king if the breakfast room gossip is to be believed.” Atticus looked back at her and smiled his kind big brotherly smile. “Don’t fear. He can’t hurt you. Now then enough of this unpleasantness… lets go home shall we?”

Jasmine sat back against the seat. She didn’t say the words that hovered just behind her lips.

She could never tell another soul.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh to be young, dumb, and horny. This chapter was such a blast to write, I hope you all liked it as well. I swear this is slow burn despite the content of this chapter lol. Its going to be a long journey to get past these old hurts that have been stacking up for years now. Anyways up next the hunt begins and Jasmine makes a startling connection


End file.
